


Aim Straight

by CastielsCarma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Case Fic, Curses, Dean Winchester Being Dean Winchester, Fake/Pretend Relationship, FicFacers2020, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Pining Dean Winchester, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Unintentional flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25535833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: A man dies in the woods. A couple gets back together again. Dean is not sure that any of those events are even remotely connected to anything supernatural but off Team Free Will goes to investigate. Little will Dean know that something will follow him back to the Bunker.Dean will have to pretend to save his life. But what will he do when he realizes that pretending is not only not enough, but that it's out of his hands?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 133
Kudos: 236
Collections: FicFacer$ 2020





	1. A rock hard crush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clarinda_Sydney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clarinda_Sydney/gifts).



> This is the fic requested by Clarinda_Sydney for the Ficfacers in support of RA.
> 
> I had such a blast writing the first chapter. There are five more chapters before the fic is finished. Thank you for the prompt and the story it spawned. I hope you will enjoy where it takes you!
> 
> All the love to my wonderful friend and beta @BabysNotaProp who did her magic on this piece, as she always does. Extra sprinkles on top of that love for helping me with the chapter title! =D I truly cherish you. As always, hope you enjoy! Kudos and comments are much appreciated.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who supports Ficfacers and through that does good! ❤
> 
> \--> This story is not affiliated, associated, endorsed by, or in any way officially connected with Random Acts, or any of its subsidiaries or its affiliates. All donations have been paid directly to Random Acts, who do not own Supernatural or any of the characters in the stories. <\--  
> 

The wind near the edge of the cliff is a violent thing. As Dean peers down at the waters of Jocassee lake, he sees the jagged wall of the cliff that plummets sharply down. There are no sandy beaches below, just the quiet of the waters and the howling wind. Dean turns his gaze to the right. 

He can see the green trees of the forest lining up along the edge of the cliff but further away the cliff isn't so steep and the distance to the lake is a mere five feet. He shakes his head. Why on earth did Dan Kippen decide to hang his... message here of all places? “I don't see anything, officer.” 

“It's easy to miss. The forensics has already taken down the larger part of the banner but you see, down there, at that rock that pokes out?”

Dean narrows his eyes and thinks he sees a cloth flapping in the wind. He imagines seeing the red streaks of blood but knows it must be in his head. Dan's body is already cleared and chilling in a box until someone can look at it.

“So he tried to hang the banner in the middle of nowhere and plummeted to his death?”

Brief affront flashes on officer Graham's face before he speaks. “I assure you, Mr. Stark, this is not in the middle of nowhere. It might feel so for you big town folk – “

“He meant no offense officer.”

Graham glances at Sam. “Alright, Mr. Banner. As I was saying, he was apparently trying to hang a banner up, slipped, and fell to his death.”

Dean clicks his tongue. “And why would Mr. Kippen propose like that to Miss – “

“Miss Megalyn Julie,” Graham answers. “No idea sir, that's what we're trying to find out.”

Dean nods. “Can we see the evidence you gathered so far, and take a look at Mr. Kippen? Was he from around?”

“Yes. From Pickens, just an hour south. Where our office is located.” He pauses and licks his lips. “And I'll gladly let you take a peek at the evidence. With the other suspicious event happening in Pickens, folks are antsy you see. I really hope these cases are not connected.”

Sam interjects. “There's been another case like this?” 

“Well, not like _this_ , everyone is alive.” The officer shakes his head. “Just not right you see. Mr. and Mrs. Krushnic were on the brink of divorce – it was curse words flying, furniture being tossed out, the prized tomato plant being vandalized – “

“The prized tomato plant?”

“Yes, Mr. Banner. And now they're all... really happy.”

“Happy? That's suspicious? That they're happy?”

Graham looks down for a second. “It's difficult to explain. But I've been an officer for many years in this town. I _know_ when something is off, sir. And something is off with the Krushnics. I was thinking maybe non-locals would be able to help. They might talk more easily with someone if they don't think we're poking around.”

Dean arches an eyebrow. “When you say off, you mean off as in ax murder off or off as in they wear knitted vests?”

“Maybe both?”

Dean hears Sam suppress a laugh and sighs. 

“Good. We'll see you at the office and we can... uh, take a look at the Krushnics too. But Kippen is our main priority. Thank you, officer Graham.”

Graham nods and walks over to his colleagues.

Dean looks to his left at Cas who approaches them. “Anything, agent?”

Cas puts his hands in his pocket and narrows his eyes at Dean. It gives him a grumpy appearance and Dean would say he looks adorable but of course he doesn't say it. Those thoughts are his alone and he'd rather eat that soy crap Sam calls 'salami' for six months than admit it out loud. Maybe two months would be enough.

“Nothing remarkable on the scene, no.” Cas leans in closer to Dean and whispers in his direction. “Couldn't find anything that spoke of demonic interference or a curse. No sign of ghosts either.” He leans back and speaks up again. “Nothing remarkable at all.”

Sam steps in. “I say we drive to Pickens and see if the body of Mr. Kippen can tell us more.

The drive to Pickens is uneventful. Dean listens to _Two minutes to midnight_ on the local radio station and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. They're not Zeppelin, but they're good. 

Finally, Dean breaks the silence. There has been music playing, but they have all been quiet since they jumped into Baby – Sam reading a book and Cas being lost in his own thoughts. “Since no one is piping up, I'll do one for the team. I'm sorry Sammy, but this doesn't sound like our gig at all. So the guy climbed a cliff to attach some kind of 'I love you' message, slipped and tumbled down to his death? Feel bad for the romantic sap but this doesn't scream pissed off poltergeist or possession or anything even remotely supernatural.”

Sam puts down the book. “What about the other couple?” 

Cas speaks up.“What other couple?”

Dean scoffs. “Nothing, Cas. Just the officer thinking that a couple – um, Krushnic I think – being on the brink of divorce and deciding to stay together is weird. What's weird is that I haven't seen a burger joint for miles. Man, I'm hungry.”

“I'm sure you'll be able to clog up your arteries soon, Dean,” Cas says dryly. 

Sam laughs in the background. “He does like his burgers and meat.”

“Nothing to worry about, Cas. Been doing this for years. Hell, decades. You haven't seen me drop dead from a heart attack yet. I have veins of steel.”

Cas narrows his eyes and shakes his head slightly. “I'm sure that's the reason why. Your veins of steel.”

Dean shakes his head. “Nothing wrong with some protein. And you're damn straight I like my meat. You can call me the meat man.”

Sam smirks. “I don't think... that means what you think it means, Dean.”

Dean scoffs. “What?”

Sam just shakes his head and grabs a book.

Dean turns up the volume and steps on the gas. 

Andrew is a tall, gangly man in what Dean thinks is his mid-thirties but the already receding hairline makes him look like he's forty or even fifty. Dean glances at his checkered short-sleeved shirt. Dean feels sorry for the guy. Sure, his hair is thinner than Trump's combined truths since he became president but that shirt wasn't found in the cool and hip department of the store either. 

“This the guy?”

Andrew nods and points at the body already on the refrigerating table. “Yes. My primary report is done. You can take a look and put him back in the cooler when you're done. All his belongings are zipped and bagged.”

Sam smiles. “Thank you, Andrew. Before you go, we'd appreciate it if you could tell us anything. Something that stands out or if you found anything... odd while doing the autopsy?”

Andrew furrows his brows thinking, then shakes his head. “Odd? Nothing that I haven't seen before, Mr. Banner. Oh, maybe the arrow but we're working on that. It's in the evidence room.”

Cas turns to Andrew. “You found an arrow at the crime scene?”

Andrew nods. “Probably a toy of some kind a kid left behind. Looked old, like it had been there forever but it got bagged anyway. Gotta be thorough. You're welcome to take a look afterward if you want.” 

Cas nods in gratitude. “Thank you.”

When Andrew leaves they can finally take a better look at Dan Kippen. He lays very dead on the cold table. He looks pale, not just for being a dead guy but he was probably one of those types that looked bleak and gloomy all year round. Just to be sure, Dean peels back his teeth. Nothing. 

Not that he would think a vampire was prowling in the woods, lovesick, and wanting to marry someone. “Cas, do you detect anything weird, like, I don't know, the residue of a curse or something?”

"No.” Cas lets go of Dan's wrist. “Besides slightly elevated cholesterol and a third nipple, he seems perfectly fine. For being dead.”

Sam clasps Cas' shoulder in gratitude. “Thanks, Cas. We should go and check out the evidence room. Andrew did mention something about an arrow.”

Dean sighs. “Alright, but I still think this is a dud. We could be chasing burgers instead of bodies.”

On the third shelf, Dean finds the box tagged with Dan Kippen. He brings it out to Cas and Sam. “You found the case, I'll let you do the honors.” 

Sam rolls his eyes. “Just open the box, Dean.”

“I was just trying to be nice.” Dean removes the lid and takes out several plastic bags, zipped up. They contain Dan's clothes, a watch, shoes, his wallet, and phone. At the bottom of the box, he hits jackpot.

“There she is.” Dean removes the arrow from the plastic bag. It does seem old, like it's been lying in the woods for ages but the tip seems oddly sharp. It has a nice heavy weight to it. Dean twirls it around but fails to catch it.

It lands with a big thunk on the floor.

“Dean...” Sam sounds exasperated. “Don't play with the evidence.”

“I wasn't playing with it. Just testing out the balance.”

Sam sighs. “You're no Katniss. So, what do we think?”

Cas looks at the arrow, squinting his eyes. “May I?”

“Sure, Cas.”

Cas takes the arrow and turns it around. He squints in that way he usually does when he's pondering something. Dean finds it really endearing. There's something about Cas being able to be both cute as hell and turn that stare into something menacing that makes butterflies tumble in Dean's stomach. Especially, when that gaze is directed at him.

“Anything?”

“Nothing that I can detect. There are no Enochian symbols or residue of any magic that I can sense. It is _old_ , that I can sense but it can just be that. Maybe he was collecting old artifacts?”

“Maybe, that still doesn't explain why the hell he had an arrow with him on his crazy ass proposal trip. We'll borrow this.”

Cas interrupts. “Do you think that's wise?”

Dean grins. “We're FBI. Of course, it is. I suggest we go and visit Megalyn Julie.”

Megalyn Julie crosses her arms and sits down on the couch. “I wish I could offer you some coffee Mr. Banner, Stark and...?”

Cas turns and absentmindedly puts down the picture of Megalyn and a dog on the countertop. “Mr. Romanoff.”

Dean shakes his head slightly as he and Sam sit down on two chairs opposite her. “It's alright, Miss Julie – “

“Please, call me Megalyn, or Meg.” She exhales and touches her brown, curly hair. At first, Dean thinks it's a nervous gesture but as he looks into her brown eyes, he sees determination there. And anger.

“Alright, Meg it is. What was your relationship with Dan Kippen?”

Megalyn uncrosses her arms, but Dean doesn't miss the flash of annoyance on her face. “We were not.”

“Not what?”

She sighs deeply and looks at Dean. “We were not in a relationship.”

Sam frowns. “But... he, the banner that Dan put up. It was a proposal... it had your name on it.”

Megalyn nods slightly. “I heard. Look... Dan was a nice guy. Somewhat quirky but nice. Until he wasn't. We were not in a relationship, not one in real life at least.”

There's a heavy pause. Sam waits and then fills the silence. “Can you explain?”

“He had... a crush on me you could say. I've known for years and we had talked about it.”

“About that – “ Dean interjects “ – that you were just to stay, friends?”

Megalyn nods. “Yes, and everything was fine. Sure, he made a joke now and then but I could count them on my one hand. Then, I'd say... two months ago he changed.”

“Changed how?”

“He started doing all these things for me. Ordering me flowers, I got romantic cards. A box of chocolate on the stairs.”

Dean clicks his tongue. “I understand. And what was your reaction?”

Megalyn bites her lips, hesitant to continue. 

Sam pats her on the shoulder. “It's alright Meg. You're not a suspect, we just want to hear your side of the story.”

“At first, I laughed it off. I thought he was playing some elaborate joke. He was quirky after all. But he just wouldn't stop. It was like... a weird compulsion. At first, it was the cards and chocolates. Then he started claiming that we were meant to be together. That I was his soulmate, that we should get married. That if I just listened to him, I'd understand. And the things he did turned more... extreme.”

Sam's voice is gentle. “And what happened then? When he didn't listen?”

“I debated going to the police. But I was not sure what to say. 'Hey, here's Dan and he's overly eager in trying to seduce me?' I know he was acting weird and that he tried to propose to me – like _that_ with the banner on the side of a cliff – when he knew how I felt, what we had agreed upon earlier... It doesn't make sense.”

Dean's mouth is a thin line. “I mean, Dan does sound like a stalker.”

“He isn't – wasn't. He just started behaving very... irrationally. Like he was cursed or something.”

Dean glances at Cas.

Cas walks slowly until he stands next to the couch, where Dean's sitting. “You mentioned that as far as you recall, this started two months ago, Meg?”

“Yes, Mr. Romanoff.”

“Did something particular happen around that time? Had he been traveling somewhere special, met new friends, acquired sudden and new _talents_ or hobbies?”

Megalyn frowns. “What kind of talents?”

Dean arches an eyebrow at Cas.

“Maybe a strange appreciation of the occult, deep and sudden knowledge about languages such as Latin or Enochian? Perhaps there was an air of sulfur attached to him or he developed a sudden penchant for hunting?”

Dean tries not to glare at Cas. He flashes a reassuring smile at Megalyn, as if these are perfectly normal questions.

“He only spoke English... and well, he thought he could speak German but he really couldn't. As for hunting, no?”

“We found this at the scene.” Cas holds up the arrow.

Dean observes her for any clues of familiarity with the arrow but either she knows nothing or she's a really good actress. He guesses it's the former.

“I haven't seen that before. I would have known if Dan was an archer.”

Dean rests his elbows on his knees. “Could he have been keeping this from you?”

“Yes, but I don't know why he would – “ She stops mid-sentence.

“Meg? You thought of something?” Sam pauses. “It's perfectly normal to remember things later. If you recall anything, even if it may seem insignificant, it can help us a great deal.”

Meg furrows her brow as she tries to recollect. “I'm not really sure, I think it was around two months ago... Dan was really excited and spoke about a gift he'd received. He didn't say what kind of gift it was but maybe it was that arrow.” She shakes her head and speaks more quietly. “Doesn't make sense though, I mean Dan was the type of guy that almost cut off his own fingers while chopping onions. I can't really see him taking up archery.”

“People would surprise you,” Sam says. “Thank you for your time, Meg. If there is anything else you come to think of, you have our number.”

As they sit down in the Impala, Dean turns to Sam and Cas. “So, you thinking the same thing I am?”

Cas nods. “Yes, it's very likely that the arrow is cursed.”

“No, the burgers, Cas. I'm fucking starving, man. Do they even have burgers? Sam, do your thing.”

It turns out that _Heidi's Hot Dogs_ does have more than hot dogs. Dean moans around another bite of prime rib burger. “Next time, we eat first, play later.” He looks out the window. The darkness has suddenly settled over Pickens and Dean realizes that it's late. “You think we have time to go visit the Krushnics?”

Cas shakes his head. “It's getting late.”

Dean sips on his coke and grabs a fistful of fries. They're a tad low on salt but he dips them in ketchup and chews. He's too old to work hungry on the job. Being a hunter doesn't come with a high paycheck – hell, there is no check at all except the one they forge – but he can at least make sure that his belly is full. 

“So we find us a nice motel, get some shut-eye, and talk to the Krushnics tomorrow. See if this case is connected to Kippen. Local officer found it odd so, maybe he's right.” He eyes Sam's fries. “You gonna eat those?” Dean leans over and takes two of Sam's fries. 

Sam frowns. “Dean, don't take my food. And that's not – “

Dean makes a face and spits out the fries. “What the hell? What happened to your fries, Sammy? They sick or something?”

“It's parsnip fries.”

“ _Parsnip_ fries? That's just wrong, Sam.” He shakes his head in defeat. “I should have known.”

Sam smirks. “Suits you for stealing my fries.”

Dean grabs some coke to swallow down the taste of dirt.

“Sam has a point, Dean.” 

“Not you too, Cas,” Dean mumbles around the edge of the glass. He turns to look at Cas and his heart does a double-take. He literally has to do a sharp inhale because it seems that there's an odd halo around Cas. 

It looks like Cas is glowing. 

Dean blinks but the weird halo is still there. He glances up at the ceiling and notices that the bulb in the lamp is really bright and somehow it's hitting Cas just perfectly. He takes another fry and looks at Cas again. The light does him good. The shade of his hair seems more intense, even his lips seem fuller, more kissable. 

Christ. Dean needs to jerk off or sleep or watch a porno. He sighs softly and tries to take his mind out of the gutter. They have a case to solve.

Cas seems to notice Dean looking at him and smiles at him, one of those earnest gummy smiles that truly makes Dean grateful for having Cas in his life. Dean nods in Cas' direction and takes another bite of the burger.

The phone buzzes and Sam grabs it. 

Dean can tell it's an officer or some other person working in a government branch because Sam gets his serious voice on – the one that's slightly lower than his normal one and he tosses a lot of “misters” around.

“ – You really think that's necessary? I think that – “ He smiles softly. “No, I don't think that will be a problem at all. Thanks for the heads up.”

Sam hangs up and looks expectantly at Dean and Cas. “So, that was the sheriff calling. We have a slight change of plans.”

Dean scowls. “What do you mean, 'slight change of plans?'”

Sam schools his face, but Dean has known his brother his whole life and recognizes that look. It's the same look Sam had when they were kids and Dean was about to take a bite out of the cream cheese sandwich Sam had made him, only to find out it was toothpaste instead. Or the look Sam had when Dean lost a bet to him and had to give up remote control rights for two days and all Sam wanted to watch was cartoons. 

“So get this. The Krushnics since... finding each other again – or 'going weird' I think were the words the sheriff used – have been very particular with whom they spend time. How their status is.”

Dean wipes some sauce of his burger and glances at Cas to see if he has any idea what Sam is talking about. “Their status?”

“They feel strongly that love betters people and will only talk to people who were as the sheriff put it 'communed within the greatest force in the world'.”

Dean frowns. “What? They only want to speak to Star Wars fans? I mean, I don't mind donning a cloak and waving a lightsaber around. Hell, I can bring my real life-replica of Master Yoda's staff. Good Jedi I will be. I bet you'll look badass in the Jedi robes, Cas.”

Cas squints at Dean but doesn't say anything else.

“No, not the Force, Dean. The greatest force is love.” Sam's smile is so wide now that Dean starts to get worried. “Don't worry, I said you and Cas would volunteer.”

“Volunteer with what? What the hell are you talking about, Sammy?”

Sam eats one of his disgusting fake fries and finally spills the beans. “They have for some reason that I'm sure we'll find out, come to only want to associate with people who are deeply in love and show that love openly to the world.”

“Not making more sense here, Sam.”

Sam grins. “I'm talking about love, Dean. They only want to talk to people who are married. So I said you and Cas would volunteer to play the part. They expect you there tomorrow at ten. I have the address.”

Dean chokes on his drink and ignores the look Cas gives him. “What? Why the hell would you say that for, Sam?”

Sam pats his mouth dry with a napkin and finishes his beer. “That's the only way we can talk to them according to the sheriff. But it's alright. If it's a problem, me and Cas can pretend to be husbands.” He looks at Cas. “Right, Cas?”

Dean turns to Cas at the same time as Cas nods reassuringly. “Of course, Sam.”

“Nooo...,” Dean says way too fast. He has to reign in the weird panic that seizes his mind. He has to play it cool. Correction. There is nothing to _play_ cool about because he _is_ totally cool about this whole dumbass idea. “Why would I have a problem with Cas being uh... my husband?” He glances at Cas and does the finger guns. They always work like a charm, great for disarming people. “No problem at all.”

Sam looks at Dean and then at Cas. “Fine. It's settled then.”

They eat up the rest of their food. Cas tries to do some small talk but Dean focuses on finishing his burger although he can't really taste it anymore. 

“Have you found a motel yet, Sam?” Even Dean can hear the slight undercurrent of irritation in his voice but he doesn't care to hide it. Can't a guy have grumpy days? Yes, he can. 

Sam makes a hushing sound and talks some on the phone. 

Dean grits his teeth. He can't even get his calming dose of Metallica because the awesome rock tones would apparently 'disturb' some people. Finally, Sam hangs up.

“So, which motel is it, Sammy?”

Sam makes a face again which immediately has Dean's pulse kicking into high gear. “I really tried to get us one together but there are slim pickings in Pickens.”

Dean shrugs and looks at the road and ignores Sam's pun. Why is he making that face? “It's fine, we've had separate rooms before.”

Sam clears his throat. “Good. I'll stay at _Days Inn_ and you guys will be staying at _the French Cottage_.”

Dean doesn't like the sound of that. 

Sam continues. “Just look at it as practice. For the whole husband thing.”

Dean definitely doesn't like the sound of that.


	2. Hands down, too much wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas stay at "The French Cottage". Cas pulls up his sleeves and Dean proceeds to pine before he decides to take matters into his own hands... Kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter is up! I hope you enjoy! I think there will be two more chapters until this ficlet is done. Kudos and comments are as always appreciated. Thank you to all who read my writing <3.

The owner of the French Cottage – named Samara of all things – smiles and gives them the keys. She even has the dark, long hair but that's where the similarities end. Her eyes shine with warmth and she doesn't rasp out menacing threats. “Enjoy your stay.” No, her voice sounds rather cheerful.

The reception building is in the woods somewhere in Pickens. At least Dean thinks they're still in Pickens. “As long as it ends after seven days,” Dean mutters but quiets down when he notices Samara looking at him. He decides to be very interested in the leather-bound guest book that rests on the counter. Dean finds it odd that it's on the counter in the reception building rather than the motel – why have a reception building in the first place? – but keeps quiet. He's pretty sure she'll choke him with all that hair if he says anything else. Smiles or no smiles.

“If you need anything, just use the phone. It goes straight to the office but of course, I understand if you desire privacy. Please fill in the cards for breakfast preferences. Strawberries and champagne are on the house, of course.” She smiles again as if she's genuinely happy.

Dean nods slowly. “Uh, thanks.”

He's about to leave but turns around. “Sorry, I gotta ask. Why would we desire privacy?”

There's a flash of confusion but Samara covers it up quickly. “It is usually used for romantic getaways. That's why it's so popular. We remodeled it two years ago and there's been a steady stream of newlyweds and couples coming to old Pickens ever since.”

Dean tries to process the information but it's like she's talking another language. “Newlyweds?”

Samara continues. “Of course, Mr. Romanoff, you don't have to be married. Staying here is a gorgeous opportunity to celebrate with your loved one whether you're married or not. Please tell me since it wasn't specified when booked, are you staying one or more days? If you are planning to be for here more than thirty-six hours, we provide fresh linen for your bed.”

“Beds,” Dean says.

“Beds?” Samara smiles but this time she's not as quick at hiding her bewilderment.

Dean looks outside. Cas is still waiting but he seems grumpy. He's probably wondering what's taking so long but Dean is busy having a small heart attack. Maybe he can ask Cas to heal him when he's done with this, just in case.

His mouth is dry and he can feel his pulse go up, higher than the voice of Dimash. And he only knows who the fuck Dimash is because Youtube did its magic algorithm thing. Yeah, he'd rather be a bird and fly the fuck out of here. “There are beds here. There. In that... cottage. Right?”

“It's a room for couples... so there's only one bed.” Samara pauses for a second. “Is that going to be a problem? We are very clear on the website – “

“Look – “ Dean grabs the guestbook and starts fiddling with it. “I mean no disrespect but are there any other available rooms in other motels in Pickens?”

Samara looks down at the guestbook and takes it away from Dean. She places it back on the counter again. “The yearly pottery festival in Pickens is happening right now, so I'm afraid most of the hotels are fully booked.”

Dean debates whether he should push it further but he can't wait forever while he makes this woman check every motel in Pickens for an available room. He breathes out a heavy sigh but doesn't feel much calmer. Fucking hell. “I – just keep it as it is. I'll keep it.”

Samara nods and grabs the keys. “I hope the room will be to your satisfaction.”

_It would've been if there were more beds_ , Dean thinks bitterly but he just flashes her a smile and swallows.

“Yeah. Cool.”

“Here are the keys and for you.” She slides over a card.

Dean takes it.

“It's a discount coupon for the pottery festival. Twenty percent off any clay product.”

Great – just what he needs – clay. He gives Samara a nod and walks outside.

Cas looks up as the door swings shut. “Dean, is everything alright? I thought Sam had booked a room. Was there a problem?”

Dean grits his teeth. “No, nope. No problem at all.” It was just one bed. How bad could it get?

As Dean walks up the few wooden steps and stares at the wooden white double-doors, his sense of unease increases. The cottage lays alone, surrounded by trees that bring shade; the thick canopy a great shield against the sun.

Dean sighs. It's just a motel, cottage, whatever. He forgets his next thought as he enters.

The room is a disaster.

Dark smooth wooden floors that are worn down but give the space a warm, inviting atmosphere. The walls are made of white wooden planks. To his left, he numbly registers some fancy old-school French chairs – the French revolution old-school kind – and in the far left corner beyond the room that leads to the bathroom, he can spot a small dining area.

The dark wooden door to the bathroom is made to look like a barn-door and Dean catches glimpses of a bathtub before his eyes land on the bed.

It's like the embodiment of a birch forest and French frills had a steamy night together – the result is this bed. Both the headboard and footboard are littered with fancy carvings of leaves and shit. It's a forest elf's dream. The bedding is the same, white and luxurious with ruffles and lace. Then Dean takes in the actual size of the bed. He mulls it over in his head – his height, how wide his shoulders are – and thinks it might work.

“They are really taking the French theme to heart,” Cas says as he closes the door behind them.

“You can say that,” Dean mutters. He drops his duffel bag on one of the ornate chairs and can almost hear the chair creak in protest. “Alright, we spend the night here and call Sam up the first thing in the morning. Check out the Krushnics and see what's up with them.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Cas shrugs out of his trench coat and hangs it away.

“Good. I don't know about you, but I could watch a classic now. How about Tombstone or Shrek?”

Cas pauses. “Shrek?”

“Hey, they're both classics in their own right. You got to admit that donkey is funny as hell.”

Cas looks at Dean. “While I always treasure our movie nights, there is a fault in your plan.”

Dean toes off his shoes and looks up at Cas. “What?”

“There's no TV here.”

Dean looks around the room. “Of course there's a TV. What kind of motel room doesn't have a TV?”

Cas walks around the room, inspecting it, or looking for God knows what. “It's a honeymoon suite, a place for people in love to be with each other.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “What kind of people don't want a TV, even the ones that are all heart-eyed? Not my people.”

“I think the kind of people that want each other.”

Dean's heart goes full wild horse gallop at Cas' words. Did he say – he didn't mean himself, did he? Of course not. He clears his throat. “Maybe. It's late. Let's just get some shut-eye and tomorrow we deal with the Krushnics.”

Cas stops his pacing and sits down on the bed. He divests himself of his suit jacket. “Sam is going to meet us there?”

Dean looks at Cas' shirt, licks his lips and nods. “Yeah, at ten.” His stomach decides to do somersaults and Dean knows it has nothing to do with hunger. On cue, Dean's stomach decides to growl like a fucking grolm. He has no idea of how a grolm really sounds like, but he's sure his stomach is doing a decent job of imitating one anyway.

“Hungry again? We passed a gas station not far away. You need anything – ?”

Dean waves away Cas' suggestion. “Nah, I'm good, Cas. I'm sure the cottage has some snacks to offer. Peanuts. You can't be called a good motel if you don't have those, right?”

Dean walks over to the kitchen and opens the cupboards but finds them disappointingly empty. He peers into the fridge and bingo. It's not really peanuts, they're soft instead of hard, and sweet instead of salty. They're not the same shape or even nuts but Dean grabs the bowl with strawberries anyways.

He sits down at the table and takes one. An explosion of flavor assaults his tongue and Dean blinks. Whoa, if these aren't the best strawberries he's ever had? He glances over at Cas who has just rounded the corner and chokes on a piece of fruit.

Cas has rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, revealing hard, strong underarms. It's not a common sight, and Dean drinks it all up. There is something with how his skin contrasts with the crispness of the white skirt that has Dean all hot and bothered in an instant. Right now, he wishes he'd grabbed the champagne too, any kind of alcohol would've been a blessing.

“So about the arrow? Are we thinking Cupid?”

Dean tears his gaze away from Cas' arms. Christ, he's acting like a fool. He chews on another strawberry. “Don't know. Right now I'm thinking champagne.”

Cas walks over to the fridge and grabs the champagne. After taking a glass in the cupboard, he takes a seat next to Dean. He slides over the glass to Dean.

Dean nods gratefully and pours up some champagne. “It's getting hot in here?”

Cas quirks an eyebrow.

“So take off all your clothes.” Dean does the finger guns, a grin on his face which falters when Cas looks at him questioningly. “From the song, Cas. You know the – “

“I'm aware of that song.”

“Right. Of course you are.”Dean nods and ignores the rising heat in his cheeks. He eats another strawberry. Hopefully having his face stuffed with fruit will force him to shut up.

Cas claps his hands on the table and Dean can't help but notice the strength in his underarms, how his muscles move under his skin. What he wouldn't do to be able to just stroke a finger over Cas' arm, feel the warmth of him, the strength of his hands. He imagines those hands stroking _him_ now, and he's not particularly picky with which part. His face, his hands, his arms, his back, hell, he'd settle for a stroke on the knee. His dick.

Blood rushes to said place, and Dean gets up in a hurry. “I need to – “

Cas looks at him oddly. “Need to –“

“Go over there. We haven't even properly secured this place.”

“Secured it from what?”

Dean walks over to a large chest, again dark wood carved with stuff from nature. There are big white candles displayed on the chest, together with a glass vase stuffed with folded paper. Paper is spread out on top of the chest, but it's the thick and creamy kind of paper, and there's artsy writing done with a calligraphy pen. “From this.” Dean points at the entirety of the chest.

“I fail to see how this display can pose a threat.”

Dean grabs a piece of paper. “This could be a spell. For all we know this is an altar, and that Samara chick is a witch. This paper reads, 'as the sun sets, my desire never will.'” Dean frowns. “Could be some kind of threat. A curse.” He puts the paper down and notices he's left strawberry stains on notes. Speaking of stains, he quickly checks his pants. All good.

“I think it's part of the interior design,” Cas says dryly.

“Spells can be part of interior design too.” Dean walks over to the bed and lifts one of the ivory pillows. “All clear.”

Cas just stares at Dean. “Now that you've... secured the place. About the Cupid; if it was one it sounds rather... violent.”

Dean scoffs. “I remember one Cupid tried to stab me.”

Cas follows Dean with his eyes. “He was distressed. I recall that was around the time angels had just lost their wings. The other one you met before that was pretty harmless. Cupids are not interested in schemes and politics.”

“All they want to do is spread love and sing kumbaya? I'm sorry, Cas but I haven't met an angel that hasn't been scheming and causing trouble.”

Cas narrows his eye and his lips thin in displeasure.

“I didn't mean all angels. You're totally different, Cas.”

“Right. A Cupid is about uniting people, making them fall in love, not splitting them apart.”

Cas loosens his tie and that single movement has Dean's attention focused on Cas' arms again. His cock twitches. Fuck, it's like he's in a Victorian romance novel for fucks, sake. Soon, Cas is probably going to unbutton his shirt or show his undergarments and Dean will pass out.

He stifles a yawn. “You do have a point. A murderous Cupid does sound weird, even for us. But then again, I do remember that case with the killer teddy. I'm not even sure there is a case here, Cas.” He sniffs his armpit and wrinkles his nose. “Uh, I'll hit the shower. Hold that thought and we'll talk to Sam tomorrow.”

As Dean closes the barn door shut with clean underwear and a T-shirt in tow, he sighs in relief at the opportunity to be away from Cas just for a few minutes. It's not that he doesn't like being around Cas, on the contrary, at the moment he's liking it a bit _too much._

He lets out another sigh at the lack of a shower. Instead, a huge porcelain bathtub on gilded feet stands proudly in the middle of the room. “Well, there goes my intentions.” He glances at the towel rack in the shape of a wooden ladder.

Everything seems to be wooden around here, polished and oiled to perfection. It doesn't seem fair that Dean's wood is to be neglected but the notion of getting off in a bathtub is not on his list. Besides, the only thing between Dean's moans and Cas' ears is a flimsy barn door and figuring since Dean can hear Cas shuffle something around on the bed; he's not taking any chances.

He starts by standing in the bathtub but quickly realizes that there's going to be water everywhere. So he sits down and gets himself wet before standing up again to grab the soap. He spreads the suds all over, kneading hard over aching shoulders. Cas' hands come to mind and the soft skin on his underarms.

Dean wonders how it would be to touch Cas in earnest. Not just a hand squeezing his shoulder, or a hand lingering slightly too long as he hugs him but to feel his skin on his fingertips without being afraid that he's crossing a line. To feel Cas' hands on him, his fingers stroking Dean's arms up to his shoulders. Stroking down Dean's chest without fear or hesitation, just an eagerness to finally take what Dean is offering.

Dean bites his lip and strokes his cock a few times, just to feel the slight tingle of pleasure but stops before uttering a gasp or a quiet moan. He stands up again, grabbing the edge of the bathtub so he doesn't slip and crack his skull open. How on earth is a bucket-sized bathtub romantic? He grabs the shower head and rinses himself off, quickly and efficiently.

Carefully, he gets out and grabs a soft towel. As he dries himself off, he inhales the scent. Wow, the towels smell really good. It's not lavender or some other crap but something else. He can't name the scent but nods in approval. At least something is going his way.

He folds the towel over the ladder and pulls on the boxer shorts and T-shirt. When he slides the door shut, Cas is sitting on the bed. On top of the covers.

“You not gonna sleep?”

Cas shakes his head. “No, I slept two days ago.”

Dean knew that– not that he was keeping tabs or anything – but it didn't hurt to ask. “Alright, well, I'm beat. But we don't have to meet the Krushnics until ten, so for once we can sleep in.” He grabs the covers and waits until Cas gets up so he can slide in.

“I'll be up reading for a while if you don't mind.”

Dean nods and Cas grabs a book. “What you reading?”

Cas glances at the cover. “The history of the croquembouche.”

“The history of cock and bruise?”

Cas arches a brow at Dean that makes his stomach flip. He's grateful that Cas is on the cover and not under. “Croquembouche. Choux pastries or profiteroles that are filled with cream. And usually stacked high and bound with spun sugar.”

“Well, I wouldn't complain about being filled with cream.” Heat floods his face when Dean realizes that he said that out loud. What the hell? He was sure that he was only _thinking_ that, not uttering it out loud.

His whole body goes rigid in mortification and he tries his best to diffuse the situation. “With the French balls, I mean.” Jesus Christ, what is happening?

Dean can see the wondering look that flits over Cas' face before he smoothes it out. “Right.”

“Nothing beats pie though.” Dean clears his throat. “Good night, Cas. I'll turn off the lights on my side.”

Cas just hums.

Dean turns to the side and looks at the bedside lamp. Next to it stands what looks like a two-tiered cookie platter. Feeling hopeful that he can get a night snack, Dean sits up slightly, only to discover that his cookies are just leaves and dried flowers and what looks like a cinnamon stick. He takes the cinnamon stick and sniffs it. Nope, he can't snack on that.

He literally said to Cas that he wanted to be filled with cream. His cock twitches as his mind provides unhelpful images of Cas fucking him hard, his hands grabbing Dean's hips and squeezing hard as Cas empties himself inside him. If this isn't a sign to turn off the lights, Dean doesn't know what is.

Turning the lamp off, Dean pulls the covers tight around himself and wills himself to sleep.

Dean wakes up and finds the room draped in darkness. “Cas?” It's a muted whisper, almost verging on a thought than words physically manifested. Cas is a silhouette next to him and Dean thinks that Cas went to sleep anyway. Groggily, he grabs his phone and presses the screen. A sharp light chases away some of the darkness. Dean squints and dims the light. Three a.m.

He still has plenty of time to get some shut-eye before they need to get going. Dean turns to the other side, phone still in hand. He shines the phone on Cas, using it as a flashlight.

Cas doesn't stir. The thick of his eyelashes are still as he's caught in a dreamless sleep.

Dean swallows. Fuck, Cas is gorgeous. What isn't so gorgeous is that Cas has fallen asleep on top of the covers, effectively pinning down Dean's right side of the covers. He drops the phone for a second, scoots over an inch to the left. He can feel the edge of the bed; he has nowhere else to move if he doesn't want to sleep on the floor.

Dean mutters a curse and rolls back to face Cas. He grabs the end of the covers and pulls gently.

Nothing happens.

Dean pulls again, harder this time, and manages to pull away the covers slightly before Cas turns back in his sleep again.

“Cas?”

Silence.

Dean grabs his phone and shines the light on Cas again. From what Dean can tell, Cas still sleeps. He lowers the phone slightly and notices that the top button of Cas' shirt has come off in his sleep.

Dean lets out a sound between a moan and a cry. Shit. How is he going to fall back asleep now? He angles the phone down.

Cas has not pulled down the sleeves on his shirt. His arms are still exposed. One hand is sort of tucked in close to his cheek, but the other arm limply rests between himself and Dean.

Looking at that hand that's so close to him, Dean can't help it.

“Cas?”

Silence.

Dean reaches out slowly, not even touching Cas. His hand hovers near Cas' arm for what feels like an eternity before he decides to casually let it drop down. Just things you do in your sleep. Dropping arms down.

The heat of Cas' skin is amazing. He can't tell if it's that Cas is naturally this hot – scratch that, Dean knows that Cas is _hot –_ or that the close proximity to Dean has made him warmer. Dean moves his fingers slowly across Cas' underarm. His heart is trying to escape his chest but his hand is also trying to jump ship and abandon his arm.

Dean moves the wrist but it does nothing to mitigate the pinpricks of needles, so he puts the phone down at such an angle that he can still see most of Cas' arm and hand.

Dean stops for a second, uncertain if he should go on. _There is nothing to go on about, your hand is just laying next to Cas' hand is all._

Cas' hands are large and although they're not as calloused as Dean's, he knows that they've known their fair share of fighting and battles. Hell, Cas can basically kill him with just a press of a finger against his forehead. A zing of pleasure goes through Dean at the thought but it quickly diminishes as an odd sensation of sadness envelops him.

What he wouldn't give just to hold Cas once, really _hold_ him and tell him all those things he's been yearning to tell him for years? But he cares too much about Cas to ruin what they have. And he's not stupid enough to think that Cas harbors any feelings towards Dean that are even remotely close to desire or love or whatever.

Love.

It is love, and it's been love for quite some time.

Dean exhales heavily. Like Cas loved Dean. Dean fucking Winchester, the guy that has started numerous apocalypses, (sure stopped them too but started them nonetheless), the guy that can't ever catch a break, the guy who kills everyone that ever comes close to him. That includes Cas, Dean thinks bitterly and shuts down the image of Cas laying dead on the ground, stabbed in the back.

Cas will leave him for real, and never come back again if Dean utters those words. Like he could love someone like Dean. Not only that, but he is also a fucking angel and Dean just a human.

Love.

Yeah, he loves Cas.

But why does that matter when every person that he calls friend, that he's _loved_ , no matter in what capacity has died? His mom and dad, Bobby, Ellen and Jo, Charlie, Benny... not to count how many times people he cares about has been _hurt_ because of his love.

Every person he's ever loved has left him, except Sam and Jack. Hell, even they have been dead and gone only to come back. But they _have_ to stay because they're family. Cas is family sure, Dean says it all the time but deep down he wants Cas to be more. And deeper down still, he wonders if Cas feels that he even _is_ family.

Family never leaves you. Not voluntarily.

Yet Cas has left him in the past.

And if he learns that Dean loves him... surely he will leave. He has nothing to offer Cas but despair. A grim hunter life that always ends in an apocalypse. That's no way to live, but it's all Dean has.

Dean realizes that he's still caressing Cas' arm. He's about to back off when his fingers slide over the palm of Cas' hand.

Dean stills but his heart doesn't get the memo. He pauses, allowing his hand to just be in Cas' hand. As it rests there, blueish from the light of Dean's phone, he thinks that he's never been happier. For a brief moment, he can pretend that it's real. That Cas' love for him is real. That they are real.

With that comes the inevitable disappointment and pain that they're not. That it can never be. Dean latches on to the pain and nurses it close. He's used to pain. He knows pain.

He sighs and lets go of Cas' hand. He turns on his side, facing away from Cas and turns off the phone. As the light dies down, shrouding the room in darkness, so does Dean's brief moment of joy disappear.


	3. Hot tomato is a no-go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas fake being husbands while they interrogate the odd Krushnics'. For Dean, the line between what he wants and what they are acting out keeps blurring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter is up! There will be more, I can't promise an exact number but one to two more I think. Hope you enjoy and thank you for your patience. Being sick and writing while having a sick toddler (who shows no signs of slowing down lol) is a challenge. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy and comments and kudos are appreciated, as are you my dear readers. Stay safe <3

Dean wakes up to an empty bed. He blinks and takes in the unfamiliar surroundings. He's about to reach for his gun when it all comes back to him. The case, the cottage, Cas.

The empty bed.

He's slept in the same bed as Cas. He's touched Cas' _hand._

An array of conflicting emotions war inside him; the joy of holding Cas' hand, the shame that he'd done it while Cas slept, the sense of loss – cause it sure as hell wouldn't happen again – and the sickening feeling that settled in his stomach at that.

All of that inner turmoil comes to a screeching halt when he inhales the divine scent, the ambrosia of Gods.

“Cas, what the hell? Do I smell what I think I smell?” Dean practically jumps out of the bed, anything to get away from all that lace bedding – although he did sleep well. He quickly pulls a T-shirt over himself.

“Yes, the drug of your choice.”

Dean follows Cas' voice and stops when he sees him sitting at the small dining table with a virtual breakfast buffet. He spots fresh croissants – he knows they're fresh because of the billowing steam – that are fighting for space together with a bowl of strawberries, a huge platter with a variety of sausages and cheeses, a knob of butter in a bowl, tiny-ass scones and what appears to be yogurt and honey. In the middle of the table, the coffee pot stands with its blessed, dark liquid.

Dean sits down and nods approvingly. “Man, I have no idea how you did this, but I could kiss you right now.” He grabs a scone and puts it in his mouth.

“Well, we're supposed to be married. I believe that is the custom.”

Dean chokes on his scone and starts coughing. Cas raises an eyebrow but Dean ignores him and goes for the coffee. “Mm, coffee.”

“I ordered it. Honeymoon breakfast for the newlyweds.”

Dean chews on a croissant. “Well, at least we're doing some firsts. Never been newlywed before.”

“Is there something else you'd like to do as a first?”

Touch you. Kiss you. Dishevelthat hair of yours. “Uh, like what?”

“We can hold hands. I think that would work on the intimate level. We could kiss too but there are indecency laws against prolonged kissing and the line seems to be a bit blurred. When does it go from a public display of affection to indecency?”

Dean swallows his croissant but the flakey bread isn't the reason his mouth turns drier than the desert. Is Cas really talking about kissing? Kissing him? Should they kiss? Sam wanted them to pretend to be husbands and that's what husbands do, right? Watch Jeopardy together, drink a nice whiskey and kiss. Dean ignores the voice that tells him they are already doing two out of three in the Bunker.

Dean busies himself with a spoonful of yogurt – and it helps with the dryness – before he blurts out, “I could show you?”

Cas frowns. “But we don't want the Krushnics to kick us out...”

“Uh, we can go with hand-holding. It's fine.” Hell, he has no idea what's in the breakfast but if he doesn't shut up soon, he'll say things to Cas that he's not – that he _can't_ say to Cas. Not if he doesn't wanna lose Cas forever, and he's been there and done that. It was the opposite of fun.

Cas passes the bowl of strawberries to Dean. “Good. So we've been dating ten years but been married three. I work at a library and you... “

“Come on, Cas. We're just gonna visit then, make small talk for a few minutes and be out of there. No need for an elaborate backstory.”

“Dean, if they are influenced by some supernatural force, it is wise that our stories match.”

Dean presses the screen on his cellphone. “Well, it's time to get the show going so we'll have to improvise. What can go wrong? Off we go, husband.”

Cas narrows his eyes and purses his lips in that way that tells Dean Cas wants to give him an earful but doesn't because he doesn't want to instigate a fight or whatever. “Is it too late to divorce you?”

Dean breaks out laughing. “Yep. Once a Winchester, always a Winchester.”

Cas is already walking away but Dean hears his mutterings. “Who said anything about Winchester? We're going with Novak.”

It turns out the only supernatural force the Krushnics are influenced by is the force of tomatoes. Dean tries not to stare as he and Cas are being guided to the living room. His pulse drums erratically down to his fingers but he hopes Cas doesn't notice. He also hopes that his case of hand sweat is not as bad as he thinks it is.

Dean whispers, “Did you see Sam?” and gets a shrug from Cas.

“No, I didn't. He said he'd wait around the corner. Maybe he couldn't find a cab.”

“He's supposed to be on the look-out, not sleep-in. And 'couldn't find a cab', Pickens is a small town but not that small.”

Dean swallows down his protests. He can't believe that Sam just left them on their own. Sure, he and Cas can play house just fine without a babysitter, it wasn't that. It was more the notion that Sam was just relaxing and stuffing his face with peanuts while Dean was out here doing the hard work.

As they sit down on the white couch, Dean keeps his face neutral but his eyes can't help but drift to the walls. The walls in and of themselves are nothing spectacular, just white plan walls that he's seen a thousand times but it's what hangs on them that has Dean frankly at a loss for words.

There are black and white pictures of tomatoes and colorful paintings of tomatoes hanging on the walls. He spots small tomato plants on the window sills and from what he can see all the books on the shelf in the living room are either books on tomatoes or gardening.

Pillows depicting tomatoes are thrown over a rocking chair and together with a red blanket, it perfects the tomato look – whatever the hell that is. Dean spots the stairs going up to the second floor, and sure enough: a picture of a tomato hangs on the wall.

“So what brings you to us? I'm Dmitri Krushnic by the way.” Dean shakes his hand but Cas beats him to it.

“Castiel Novak and the man whose hand you're shaking is Dean Novak. We've just moved here and wanted to say hello to our neighbors.”

Dmitri nods. “Oh yes, so that house at the corner is finally sold.”

Dean notices that Dmitri has the same shade of black as Cas' hair, although it's slightly longer. His facial shape is similar to Cas' too and when he thinks about it Dmitri looks like a mundane version of Cas – a not so good looking version. His eyes are a strange gray and Dean is tempted to nick the guy with a knife, just to check that he isn't a shifter.

Suddenly he wonders if he said that out loud when he notices that Dmitri is looking at him. “I must say it feels nice to be close to people who just exude love. You haven't been married long, have you?”

“Three years actually,” Cas says as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

“I can tell. You have that glow about you. We don't associate with the... other kind.”

“I hope it's not the sweats,” Dean mutters and Cas shakes his head imperceptibly. “Uh... the other kind?”

Dmitri is momentarily distracted as a tall woman with short-cropped hair walks into the living room, carrying a tray with four glasses containing a red liquid. “Nike, I've missed you.”

Nike turns to her husband and fires of a beatific smile that turns her slightly sharp face into something radiant. It reveals a level of intimacy that is almost obscene and Dean clears his throat, his gaze finding Cas'.

Cas smiles awkwardly and stares down at his shoes.

Dean is relieved; he's not sure he could handle seeing that same look on Cas' face.

“It is love that gives meaning to life, wouldn't you say?” Dmitri speaks to no one in particular.

“Yes, my life changed completely when I met Dean.” Cas looks up and his voice is husky as if he's reminiscing something. “I...fell for him completely.”

Dean tries not to stare at Cas. He squeezes his hand instead, in what he hopes is interpreted as a 'what the fuck Cas, help me out'- gesture but all Cas does is patting Dean's hand and waiting for Dean to speak.

“You were saying about the other kind?”

Dean takes the glass Nike offers them. Cas already has his in hand, waiting for some signal to try it.

Dmitri inches closer to the edge of the seat, like he's about to drop a secret on them. “The ones that are not connected, that don't experience what we feel every day.” His eyes widen.

“Love,” he exclaims when Dean remains silent.

Dean snorts but turns it into a cough when Nike looks at him disapprovingly. “Of course. Love. That's why we're Mr. and Mr.” He shakes Cas' hand, his fingers intertwined with his. Trying to get away from the sheer awkwardness of it, he lets go and plays with his glass. The liquid is way too solid to be wine, unfortunately. He goes for it and takes a sip.

Only his eagerness and going all in-mentality saves him from sputtering red stuff all over the carpet. Instead, he inhales the liquid and quickly swallows. A small shudder goes through him.

He can see Cas smile from the corner of his eye and when he turns his attention to his 'husband' Cas is sipping the devil juice like it's France's finest.

“This... is uh, really... special.” That's the best Dean comes up within the compliment category.

Both Dmitri and Nike smile as if Dean's told them they've won the lottery. “You are so kind, Dean. It's this year's vintage. Our finest tomato juice yet.”

Dean's mouth twitches. Tomato juice. Of course, it's tomato juice. What else could he expect from two tomato-decorating crazies? He wishes Sam was there. He would have chugged down that stuff like it was ambrosia from the gods. “It's a first for me.” _And it sure as hell will be my fucking last._

“Is there anything we need to know about the neighborhood?” Cas says it easily as he sips the disgusting concoction.

Dean will not even pretend to like it. “I'm full. Had a large breakfast.” He nods towards the glass.

Nike stares at him for a few seconds before paying attention to Cas. “No, the HOA is very good. Allowed us to replant the tomato plant after it was... uprooted.”

“They didn't think it was weed then?” Dean chuckles but all three of them look at him as if he's caused a great affront.

Cas smiles and lets his hand slide down Dean's leg, up and down. “Apologies, my husband isn't known for his tact.”

_Well, fuck you Cas_. Even that is forgotten when Cas keeps on patting and stroking Dean's leg. His heartbeat speeds up and his eyes flit down for a second before staring intently at not-handsome-Cas. _Fuck._ He can feel himself slowly getting hard, just a whisper that will turn into a full-blown shout of arousal if he doesn't do something.“Sorry,” he says, reaches for the tomato-juice, and takes a mouthful. His hard-on shrivels up and dies as fast as his taste buds.

“It's OK,” Dmitri says with a clipped tone that definitely means it isn't OK. “It was a trying time for us...”

Nike squeezes his arm in a reassuring gesture.

“Because of the plant?” Dean asks.

“No, we were... lost. And failed to see all that united us. We were so busy squabbling over petty and insignificant things – “

Nike makes a face. “I was so upset that I pulled out the Magus tomato plant – award-winning, three times in a row – and that was when he, well, both of us knew it. I wasn't surprised when I saw the divorce papers tossed on the bed the day after.”

Cas' hand stops moving, Dean isn't sure if it's because he's tired or because he's just as fascinated as Dean is about the story. Seems everything revolves around tomatoes in the Krushnic household. “You didn't divorce?”

Nike bites her lips and shakes her head as she smiles. Dmitri takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. “No, how could I? Sure, he has a bad habit of buying scrap wood from all –“

“ – it's hardly scrap wood when it's a century-old barn door – “

“ – 'artisan wood' he calls it – and when he pouts he can pout for days but I still loved him. And when I found that arrow. It was a sign. Sure, we had our grievances over the most mundane things but I love him.”

Dmitri shrugs. “Those days are behind us. More tomato juice? Don't be shy. The tomato contains one of the highest concentrations of lycopene and it's good for the health. Mostly the health of the prostate gland.”

Dean feels his face turn the same shade as the goddamn tomato juice.

“I'll have some more.” Cas' interference is for once a welcome interruption. Dean is just about to ask them the question that burns on his lips when Dmitri speaks again.

“I'm sure we bore you with all this talk. Tell me about yourself, how did you meet, when did you become Novak and Novak and why Pickens?”

They fire off the questions rapidly and for a moment, Dean panics. Maybe Cas had been right in suggesting that they practice on their stories, but he didn't expect this level of interrogation. Nike smiles and Dean realizes that they are just curious and not suspecting them at all. Why would they? Dean rocks at this fake-husband stuff.

“Uh, how we met? In a barn. Funny story actually.” Dean trails off and looks at Cas who just nods.

“You tell this story the best.” He flashes a gummy smile at Dean.

Dean nods slowly and smiles back. If he didn't need to pretend to love the idiot – he ignores the voice that says it isn't pretend – he would've punched him right now. “Yeah, uh there had been a storm, we were... dancing, a barn dance” – Dean smiles, he's so good at this – “and due to the weather, we took shelter in the barn. Because the barn dance had been outside... the barn.” He looks carefully at Dmitri and Nike but they seem to buy the story hook and all. “It was love at first sight.”

He glances at Cas who just nods as if Dean's story is not totally ridiculous.

Nike nods. “It's an amazing feeling, isn't it? How did you know?”

Dean licks his lips and speaks the first thing that comes to mind. “I knew it because it felt like a stab to the chest.” He realizes that maybe Cas doesn't want to be reminded that Dean literally stabbed him the first time they met, but it was an answer. “I can't speak for Cas though.”

Cas crosses his ankles, a smile on his face as he looks at Dean.

His heart leaps. He knows it's an act, all to fool the Krushnics, but damn him, if Dean isn't falling for it. At least for a few more moments, he can pretend. And then he can go back to the pretending he's been doing for years – that Cas means nothing more to him than being a friend, an angel, someone who's been with him for years.

“Not that I think your description was wrong but for me, it was more of a spark.”

Nike almost squeals. “That is so romantic. A barn dance. Dmitri and I can't boast such a venue. But it was passionate, wasn't it?”

“Yes, our second greatest passion. After each other, of course.” Dmitri points at the juice.

“A... juice business?” Dean guesses.

“No, a tomato convention. Did you know that the tomato is a fruit and that the US Supreme Court renamed it a vegetable for tax purposes?”

Dean shrugs. “Cool story, I didn't know that.”

Dmitri smiles and leans forward eagerly. “Not many do. Tomatoes are the richest source of lycopene. Healthy and delicious.”

“Ah”, Cas says but Dean has no idea why until he continues. “I read lycopene also aids in the capture and neutralization of free radicals.”

Dmitri practically sits in Cas' lap. “You're interested in Lycopersicon Lycopersicum too?”

“It's just a small hobby. Not a passion like it is for you.”

Dean gets up suddenly. If he has to sit there and talk about tomatoes a second longer he'll implode. “We need to get going. I'm sure you have business to attend to, and we were just stopping by. Thanks for the juice.”

When they're at the door, Dean turns to the Krushnics – Dmitri has his arm around Nike like he's found the one and is not letting go. “I'm curious, you mentioned something about an arrow earlier.”

Nike seems confused for a second before she practically glows. “Oh, yes, the _arrow!_ I tell you, it's a signal from the universe.”

Dean adjusts his jacket. “A sign... a sign from the universe?”

Nike purses her lips. “That's what I said, a signal. We found the arrow in our backyard one day... when I and Dmitri were less than... amicable.”

Dmitri closes his eyes as if the very memory brings him pain.

Dean tries not to sound impatient, he's just a neighbor being curious.“And?”

“Well, I took it inside to throw it away. We can't have sharp objects threatening to pierce the soft flesh of our tomatoes.”

Dean shrugs. “Hey, everyone loves ketchup.”

Nike narrows her eyes at him as if he's somehow committed a terrible offense. “It's a bastardization of the true nature of tomatoes. Who needs sugar when the natural sweetness of tomatoes is enough?”

“So the arrow is gone?”

Dmitri shakes his head. “We haven't thrown out the garbage yet.”

Cas grabs Dean's hand with a surety that makes Dean's heart burst. “Can we have it?”

Dean and Dmitri both stare at Cas. “It's been inspiring seeing the love you have for each other and it would be nice to have a remembrance of that. That the same level of... intensity is possible for me and Dean.”

Nike looks taken aback and when Cas finishes, her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “That would be such an honor, wouldn't it Dmitri?”

The ordinary Cas nods enthusiastically. “It would!”

Soon he returns with the arrow and hands it over to Dean. “I hope it will bring you the same level of clarity and love as it has for us. And tomatoes of course.” He laughs.

Dean is not sure what's so damn funny but he laughs with him. “Right. Thank you. Cya around, neighbors.”

The Days Inn is just a short ride away. Cas sends Sam a text and he must have been ready because when Dean pulls up, Sam is already outside with the duffelbag in hand and he looks unabashedly well-rested.

“You're finally done,” Sam calls out as he opens the trunk of the Impala and stoves away the bag.

Dean scoffs. “Like you did research for the case, bitch. What was this about 'cya tomorrow' and then you're just a no-show?”

“Jerk. I did research. And I figured that three would be a crowd.” He sits in the backseat and mutters, “I know that from experience.”

Dean hates it when his brother just mumbles. You'd think being that tall would come with some benefits, like superior articulation, but nope. “What you say, Sammy?”

“It's nothing.” Sam leans in so he can pat Cas on the shoulders. “You kept him in line?”

Cas nods. “Barely.”

“Hey, I'm still in the car you know.”

Cas makes a clicking sound with his tongue.

Dean stares at both of them. “You two can gossip all you want, but I have not one but _two_ arrows right here. I say we burn these suckers and we're done.”

Sam wakes up from his mini-vacation coma. “Wait, we can't do that, Dean. Are you sure that's what it takes to stop this? I think we should hit the books in the Bunker too.”

Dean starts Baby up and revs the engine. “Fine, you do the research, I'm taking the day off.”

Sam rolls his eyes but there is humor in his voice as he continues. “It went well with the Krushnics then? And the hotel was fine?”

Dean notices Cas stiffen and a heavy weight settles in his stomach. He's almost managed to forget that it was all for the case. The handholding, the sleeping in the same bed, them being close just because that's what people in love do.

Cas' dark voice fills the car. “Yes, they didn't suspect a thing.”

Dean's right hand curls into a fist instead of reaching out and taking Cas' hand like he wants to. A sick, heavy feeling settles inside him and he grinds his teeth. His hand reaches for the steering wheel instead, like it's a buoy tossed out into a stormy sea to save him.

But as they drive home, Dean doesn't feel saved. The clouds grow darker and the storm doesn't relent.


	4. A sudden hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally has a moment to relax after the finished case. That relaxation will evaporate when he finds out that Cas and Sam are closer than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lesson from writing this is to never promise chapters, lol. This is not the last chapter, my readers, and I'll just leave it at that. 
> 
> Comments and kudos feed my soul. They are very appreciated but never required. <3 I hope this finds you well and that *you* are well. Stay safe in these trying times.

One of the undeniable truths that Dean has learned from an early age is that if things can get worse, they usually do. And with how the last couple of days have been, he doesn't look forward to the other shoe dropping. And in true Winchester fashion, he'll face the problem later. “Here Sammy, you take the arrows. Have fun. I'll go have my own fun.”

Sam makes a face and scowls. “Dean, I'm your brother, I don't wanna know.”

Dean narrows his eyes and shakes his head in disgust. “A bath Sam, I'm taking a bath. Might grab a beer first though. Where's Jack?”

“I haven't seen him yet. Tell him I'm in the library and that he can bring snacks. I think this might take a while.”

Dean sighs heavily. “Man, just let me burn the sticks.”

Sam cocks his head and juts out his chin stubbornly. “Give me a few hours, Dean and then you can have your fire party. If I can't find anything, I'll give them to you, no arguing.”

“Alright, if you wanna bury your nose in the books, be my guest. I'll need some kindling for my fire party later, so save the most boring ones for me, will ya?”

Dean shuffles to the kitchen and opens up the dead guy cooler. “It's already starting,” he grumbles when he can't find any beer. “I swear if that kid drank up all the good stuff and didn't restock – “

“Hi, Dean.”

The unmistakable voice brings some sunshine to Dean's foul mood and his lips pull into a smile as he turns. “Hey, Jack. So how was alone time? No one to bother you, just you and the stars?”

Jack shrugs. “You don't bother me, Dean. I like having you around. Isn't that what a family is for?” Jack holds up a plastic bag. “Beer?”

Dean grins. He taught Jack good. He grabs the bag and pulls out a beer. “You want one?”

Jack shakes his head. “Maybe later. I was about to play mahjong.”

“Mahjong, eh? Wild. But it's a brain game, need to have all the lights on.”

“Yes. How did the case go?”

Dean swallows and tries to chase away the memories of him and Cas in bed, Cas' body so close to his, the whole fake husband thing that didn't feel fake at all.

“Good, good. Some sort of cursed object. I say we burn it but you know Sam. He loves his books.”

Jack nods. “Better be safe than sorry.” 

Jack turns to leave and Dean grabs his arm. “Look, Jack. I hope we're cool. I didn't say no to you coming along because I don't want you to be there. It's just... you've been on a lot of cases with us, as you should but I want”, Dean licks his lips and takes a swig of his beer, “I want you to have some time off, you know. Not always thinking about the job. I want you to do Jack-things too, play mahjong, read books and... eat nougat. You understand?”

“I do and I appreciate it. Thank you, Dean.” 

With Jack gone, Dean grabs his beer and walks out of the kitchen. He has an idea of where he is going but instead of turning left to the bath, he walks until he sees the steps that lead out of the Bunker. Dean takes a last swig of his beer and places the bottle on the steps before heading out.

The sun has passed its hottest point but it's still warm outside. Dean climbs the grassy top and sits down at his favorite place. It's indistinguishable from any other place but when Dean sticks his hand in the grass, instead of sand, he finds gravel and tiny rocks. 

The first time he laid down here, the back of his head received a hard kiss and he had to move. He remembers that he wasn't even pissed. They had just found the Bunker, and he climbed up here, looking at what was then a night sky and just smiled while allowing hope to settle in his heart. For the first time in forever, they had something that they could call theirs. A place to be but more importantly, a place to come back to. A place to call home.

Dean allows the rocks and pebbles to rest in his hand for a few seconds before his fingers start exploring. They find hard, sharp rocks and smooth stones that are more pleasant to the touch. Dean sits there a while longer, playing with the rocks and allows his thoughts to settle. Enough already, he really wants a bath.

The way is familiar to Dean. It's one that he knows in his dreams, in his sleep, in his heart. And if it was to ever change, Dean is certain that he'd find it again. The rocks in his hands are heavy, anchoring him to something but Dean is not quite sure what. With each shuffling step, the need grows until Dean is in front of the door. Instead of knocking, he takes a small stone and tosses it at the door. It lands with a clank, but it's a muted sound and Dean is sure that it's not enough, yet he waits.

After a few seconds, Dean tosses another stone, harder this time. It bounces off the door and lands with a thud on the floor. Come on Cas, you're supposed to have superhearing. Dean takes the biggest stone he has – the size of a chicken egg – and hurls it against the door. Just before it is about to land, the door swings inward and Dean sees Cas' gorgeous face.

Cas' eyes widen a second before the rock lands straight on his forehead. 

Cas grunts and as the stone tumbles to the floor, Dean lowers his hand and allows the remaining stones to fall to the floor. In the silence that follows after the loud thudding, Dean nods in greeting. “Cas... Hi.”

The silence hangs between them for a few seconds before Cas narrows his eyes at Dean. “What are you doing?”

It hits Dean then, what is he doing? “I'm throwing rocks...at your door.”

The look Cas gives him is scalding but then he exhales and his features soften. “I can tell. Why are you throwing rocks at my door?”

That is a perfectly valid question, one that Dean finds himself having difficulties answering. “I... wanted to get your attention.”

Cas blinks and narrows his eyes in confusion. “That's an odd way to get it but... I'm listening. Does this have something to do with the case?”

Dean realizes that Cas has very good questions and Dean has... horse shit. “Nah, nothing with the case. That's a done deal. Sam still wants to do research but I say we salt and burn the arrows. If it is supernatural that will do it, and if it's not, well, then we've burned two arrows for nothing.”

“Alright. Sounds fair.”

Dean notices that Cas is back in his normal attire; the trench coat his constant companion. Not that Dean is sad about that, Cas looks good in it but if he lets it slide off to reveal just the suit, or better yet, discards the jacket that would be awesome. 

It's criminal to hide such a body. “You should take that off.” Dean's eyes widen in a panic right before warmth floods his cheeks. 

“My trench coat? Is there something wrong with it?” Cas looks down at his coat. “I pressed it a week ago so it should be – “

“It's fine, Cas. It's fine. You're fine. Really fine.” Dean shuts his mouth before he proceeds to recite poetry or some shit. He thinks briefly that maybe he needs sleep and not a bath. Dean rubs his neck. “I just wanted to say we made a fine team. On the Pickens case, you know.”

Dean can see that Cas has that look in his eyes; the one where he suspects something is going on but he doesn't seem sure.“Thank you, Dean. I think you made an excellent husband.”

Dean huffs out a breath. “Well, you married me so. But next time, we're going with Winchester. It's an easier sell than Novak.”

“There will be a next time?”

I hope so. “I mean, yeah. There's always another case, so. And we totally pass as married. I have the looks and you have the dark, slightly messy hair, and blue eyes that really – they're really eye-catching, Cas, get it? – your mouth is cool too... kinda chapped lips, hey not that I mind, I mean there are ways to soften those up.” Dean smirks and lets his eyes trail down the rest of Cas' body. “The rest of you is nice too. I have the looks and you, you look good too, Cas.”

Cas takes a step forward and Dean notices his eyebrows furrow. “I look fine?”

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah...”

“So is that the reason...” Cas' eyes flit down to the dropped stones on the floor.

Dean makes a face. “Is your – your, um is your face alright? Don't get me wrong, it's totally alright, Cas. Very alright. More than very... but from the...rock? You cool?”

“Yes, I'm fine, it was not a hard hit. Dean, are you sure you're OK?”

Dean shrugs. “Of course. What's with the interrogation?”

“You still haven't told me why you're here. You do know that I appreciate your company very much and our time together but usually you boldly state that we're watching a movie, or that Thai food is on the menu.”

Dean laughs. “Oh, you want to know why I tossed those pebbles –“

“To get my attention, you said. I'm listening.”

Dean's brain goes through a million scenarios faster than he can consciously process. The truth is that he has no fucking idea why he grabbed the pebbles, let alone why he decided to toss them at Cas' door. But that is something that he will not admit, not out loud at least. “We make a great team.” Truth.

Cas' eyebrow raises again. “You already told me that.”

Dean breathes out a laugh. “It bears repeating.” He nods. “Alright, I need to take this grime off myself now. Later.” He does the finger guns and decides to ignore Cas' confused look.

Dean takes a quick detour to the kitchen and hesitates. Yellow or green? He's really in the mood for some Doritos but the idea of tortilla pieces floating in his bath is not appealing, so grapes it is. He tosses some grapes into a bowl and saunters to the bathroom. 

He divests himself of his clothes and tosses them on the small white table behind the dark tiled bathtub before turning the water on. The cold from the floor climbs up, chilling his feet but Dean ignores it as he walks over to the old white medicine cabinet. He has ideas on why the Men of Letters Bunker has such a room and he's pretty sure it wasn't for them desiring a nice hot bath at the end of the day.

He pushes the thoughts aside and opens the bottom drawer. There, in a wooden basket, Dean picks out his treasures; several small bottles, and a tiny towel. Walking back, he puts the items and the bowl with grapes on the bathtub counter. 

A quick peek at the water level tells Dean he has enough time. He walks over to the right corner and grabs a robe from a hook in the wall. Say what you want about the Men of Letters but if it was only used as a bathroom it was planned poorly. What kind of lunatic puts the hooks that far across the room? Getting a bathrobe after the bath meant you fucking watered the floor on the way there. 

He puts the bathrobe on top of his clothes and shuts off the water. He shakes the first bottle, before pouring the salt in the water. Salt. The bane of ghosts and the salvation of his poor, aching muscles. After that, he grabs another bottle and squeezes out some liquid. It smells of peach. Dean found out quite by accident that it makes his skin amazingly soft and now it's his bath-go to. 

Dean dips a finger in the bath and hisses. It's almost scalding. 

Perfect.

He climbs in slowly, exhaling in sharp thrusts until he's almost submerged. Finally, he can lean his head back and enjoy the still-hot water that envelops him. It's like a hot, wet blanket... but nicer. Dean sighs contentedly and takes two grapes. He chews happily before dipping the tiny towel in the water. He squeezes out the excess water and drapes it over his eyes. 

His body feels heavy and lax, just the way he wants it. Sure, he can ask Cas for healing and while it may heal all his ailments, seen and unseen, it still doesn't quite get rid of that rigidness that still persists. It's a heaviness that is always there. It's a heaviness of the heart, not the body. Dean scowls and adjusts his towel over the eyes before dipping his hand in the bowl for another grape. What the hell does his inner voice know? Dean banishes all thoughts and enjoys the hot water. Let Sam do research like a damn fool on that arrow. He will enjoy the soak.

Dean wakes with a stir. His eye towel has slid down and goosebumps cover his body. The water is cold and the scent of peach has diminished. Getting up with a sigh, Dean rinses himself off, grabs the robe, and pulls the belt tight around his waist. He eats one more grape before cleaning up the bottles.

He tosses the dirty clothes in the laundry basket and dons a pair of clean jeans, a black T-shirt, and his favorite purple flannel shirt. He sighs as he checks his phone. He dozed off for over an hour in the bath. Apparently, he was more tired than he realized. Dean rubs his eyes and walks over to Cas' room. 

“Cas!” Dean knocks and waits for a few seconds but when no one answers he opens the door. No Cas.

“Don't tell me they're still in the goddamn library.” Dean shakes his head but goes there anyway.

There's a stack of books at one of the tables and Sam has his nose in one. Cas obviously takes his cues from Sam because he's pouring over not one, but two books, thicker than Dean's desire for bacon. The two arrows are in the middle of the table, pointing at nothing except their futility. 

“Guys. The trail is colder than my love for tofu. Just give it a rest and we can watch movies.” He looks around the room and doesn't find Jack. “At least, Jack has some common sense.”

Cas looks up from his books. “He's in the storage room, looking through the rare books and manuscripts.”

“Of course, he is.” Dean takes a chair and drags it across the room to Cas. It makes a sound sure, but not that shrill, not to warrant the stare Sam gives him. “Dean, do you mind?”

“What? I'm just making myself comfortable.”

Sam sighs and flips a page. After a few seconds, he looks up at Dean again. “Are you going to help?”

“Nope. I'm sorry, Sam, but you and Cas are just chasing ghosts. Not the literal kind either. Let's nuke some popcorn and watch Liar, Liar or Star Wars, how about that?”

“Dean, if you're not gonna help, go make us some snacks.”

Dean scoffs. “Go make you some snacks. Do I look like Mrs. Doubtfire to you?” He crosses his arms and watches Sam and Cas. 

Sam turns another page and scribbles down some notes. 

Cas licks his lips, it's just a quick motion but something stirs in Dean. He sighs and shifts in his seat. 

Sam moves somewhat and his arm touches Cas' arm but Cas doesn't move it. Dean frowns. Some personal space wouldn't hurt them. Sam furrows his brows in what Dean thinks looks like concern and he pokes at Cas. “Look at this.”

Cas leans in to read where Sam is pointing and it's like they are both black holes, competing in who is gonna swallow the other one whole. Dean grips the armrests of his chair, his knuckles turning white. He hasn't signed up for a freaking love show or whatever the hell is happening right now.

Sam looks up again and Dean bets his left nut that Sam looks guilty before he smooths out his face. “Dean, the snacks?”

Like snacks are gonna hide the fact that Sam is practically feeling Cas up. And Cas just sits there and tolerates it. Dean gets up so quickly that he knocks down the chair. 

Cas looks up, a surprised look on his face. Now, he deigns looking at Dean. “I'll get your snacks,” Dean grits out as he leaves.

Sam didn't specify what snacks so Dean digs deep into the cupboard and finds some sunflower seeds. They're a tad soft but they'll do. It's not like they won't go soft in the stomach, Dean likes to think of it as helping Sam with his digestive needs. Right when he's about to turn, he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“Dean, we need to talk.”

Dean turns and thrusts the bag into Sam's hand. “I got your snacks.” 

Sam makes bitchface number 14 but stuffs the seeds in his pocket. “Not about the snacks. Can we sit down?”

Dean sighs but obliges. “Sure, Sammy, what's on your mind?” Sam is about to speak but pauses which annoys him. “Come on, I don't have all day. Gonna watch a movie, remember. Not that you care. I bet you have more important stuff to take care of.”

Sam's voice is quiet. “What do you mean by that?”

Dean knew it. Only a guilty person whispers like that. Sam has practically confessed to everything. He crosses his arms. “You know what I mean.”

Sam shakes his head, feigning innocence. “No, Dean. I don't.”

Dean expels air from his nose harshly and leans back in his seat. “You were practically groping Cas in there. The both of you, whispering in each other's ears. Like, can a guy exit the room before you slob all over each other?”

Sam's eyebrows are trying to escape his forehead. Not that it'll work; his brother's forehead is large.

“Dean, what? Is that what you think happened? Do you think I made a move on Cas?”

Dean scoffs. “Think? I know it. Fucking low. I take a bath for one hour and my brother and best friend are doing the no-pants-dance. I should have known. It was your idea that me and Cas spend the night at that hotel.”

Sam gets up from the chair and Dean recognizes that look. He's worried. Worried probably that Dean caught his homewrecker ass.

“You volunteered!”

“Only because you knew I would!” Dean gets up too and takes one step towards Sam.

Sam shakes his head. “Dean, that doesn't make any sense.”

Dean dives for Sam's hands. “Gimme the snacks back!”

Sam moves with surprising speed for someone that's tall and lumbering. “I suspected this,” Sam says with determination and Dean feels coldness against his wrist and then another click. 

“What the hell? Sammy, you uncuff me right now!”

Sam stares at Dean with grim determination. “If you don't calm down, Cas will hear the commotion and come over. I bet you don't want that. Since we're so close and all.”

If looks could kill, Sam would've been dead yesterday. “ I wouldn't put it past you to want that. It's not like that would stop you, The sex show in the library – “

“ – the sex show?” Sam pinches the bridge of his nose and Dean hears him mumble. “These two idiots will be the death of me.”

The only idiot Dean sees is Sam. 

“Listen to me, Dean. You're cursed.”

Dean scoffs and tries to cross his arms but the stupid handcuff is in the way. “You can say that. Cursed to witness that. You ever think about Jack? Him witnessing that... And you and Cas? Do you have a profound bond? Nope. And now you're gonna do this lame-ass story and tell me I'm cursed. Please. I'm your brother, at least have the courtesy to tell me the truth.” Dean pulls at the handcuff. Nothing. “I should have known. Now it's coming back to me. That time when you and Cas reached for the same beer. Classic trick to hold hands but not making it look suspicious. I can't believe you two.”

“Dean... Dean. Dean!”

“Yes, what?”

“Will you just hear me out?” 

Sam looks so earnest that it gives Dean pause. “Open the snacks for me, and I'll think about it.”

To Dean's surprise, Sam does so. As he pushes the bag towards Dean, he lowers his voice. “Will you try and keep it together for five minutes? Five. No accusations or snide remarks or outbursts? Just entertain the notion that what I'm about to tell you is the truth, alright?”

Dean digs into the bag and grabs a seed. He cracks open the shell and spits it out, before chewing on the seed. “Whatever.”

Sam sighs deeply. “Alright, you remember the Krushnics and Megalyn?”

“I don't know. It's kinda hard with what I have etched on my retinas. You and Cas burn the brightest.”

“Dean.” 

“Yeah, I remember, what about them?”

“I and Cas did some more digging about the arrows – “

“I bet you dug really deep.”

Sam rubs his hand over his face. “If you're not quiet, I swear, I'll gag you.” 

He looks like he means it, so Dean settles down. “Fine, fine, I'll shut up. See, I can be reasonable.” 

“So, the Pickens case. You remember the guy that was stalking Megalyn – “

“ – Dan Kippen, yeah. See, I pay attention in class.”

“Gold star for you. He was in love with Megalyn but she didn't love him back. And he did the proposal, slipped and died.” Sam looks expectantly at Dean.

“Yeah, so?” Don't think I'll help you with any proposal, Sam.”

Sam makes a face again, which Dean honestly doesn't get. He's just telling the truth. “What was different with the Krushnics?”

Dean clicks his tongue. “What wasn't? The guy that was a not-as-hot-copy as Cas – oh, don't you waggle your eyebrow at me, Sammy. Objectively speaking, that's the truth, you would know.” Dean narrows his eyes. “And they had an unhealthy obsession for tomatoes. That's it.” He slams his hands on the table. “Now, let me go or I swear I'll... I'll cut your hair in your sleep!”

Sam sighs. “I guess I'm asking too much of you when you're in this state.” Sam raises his hand and flaps with his fingers at Dean.

State? “What state,” Dean spits. Sam must have lost all his goddamn marbles while Dean was taking a bath. Hitting on Cas! Cas was his.

Sam totally ignores him, which should be a crime. He's the big brother after all.“Back to the case, Dean. Megalyn didn't love Dan back. He does this outrageous thing, in the name of love, slips and dies. But with the Krushnics... Sure they were on the brink of divorce but remember what Nike said? They still loved each other. And they seemed fine even after the arrow came in their possession.”

Dean tries to cross his arms again but the cuffs pull at his arm again. He settles for scowling at Sam again. “So?”

“While you were off pampering yourself – “

Dean rolls his eyes, Sam is always so dramatic.

“ – I and Cas hit the books. And we – I found something.”

Dean scoffs. “I bet you did. Let me guess. Love.”

Sam gets up and smacks Dean over the head. “I know this is difficult but please, focus Dean. For everyone's sake.” A painful expression flashes over his face. 

What does he have to be pained about? Dean is the one that is handcuffed in the damn kitchen, his safe haven. 

Sam continues his monologue. “The arrow is cursed or wrong. I'm thinking it might be a renegade Cupid or someone that's new to the craft. And you touched it last, so I think you're the only one that's cursed.”

“You're making this all too dramatic. I say we burn the arrows, and I'll be fine.”

Sam nods and fixes his gaze on Dean. “Do you feel fine?”

Is he fine? Dean ignores his stomach growling and tries to really assess his own state. Besides being chained down like an animal and his own brother leeching onto Cas, he's fine. Absolutely. “I'm totally fine, Sammy. Besides the obvious.” He lets his eyes flit down to the handcuffs.

“Yeah. So what just happened in the library, you're going to ignore that?”

Dean's lips thin. “I sure as hell will not ignore you having your hands all over Cas!” Dean shuts his mouth so fast, his teeth clash together. What the hell is wrong with him? A decade of pining for Cas silently and now he's spilling secrets left and right.

“I burned the arrows ten minutes before I came to you, just in case.”

“What you mean, 'just in case'? How are you gonna do research when you set the stuff on fire?”

Sam clicks his tongue. “I should have just knocked you out instead and hoped it would pass. Lucky for you I want my brother to stay alive, even when he's acting like an idiot.”

Dean raises a hand. “Alive? You're telling me there's some sort of death curse going around and we're just sitting here having a chitchat about my presumed... whatever.”

Sam exhales heavily. “Right now I'm leaning towards the curse having you.”

“Hey!”

“Alright, so the arrow is cursed – I suspect it amplifies the love one feels for another person – and you touched it. And the reason why the Krushnics didn't die was that they actually did love each other, despite them claiming they wanted a divorce. That love confession broke their curse, while Dan's was unrequited, so he died. You follow?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You don't have to talk to me like I'm a child. I changed your stinky diapers, Sammy. I 'follow'.” Sam makes that face that shows he's annoyed. Good, Dean thinks.

“Right... So, in order to break the curse – which you're clearly under – you have to confess. And if you don't, I suspect you'll experience more of these, uh, 'love attacks' or love tropes and sooner or later you'll do something really stupid and kill yourself. Not that that would be a first. So just do your thing, and we can have dinner together tonight. No curse.” Sam smiles like everything is resolved.

Dean narrows his eyes. He tries to play it cool but he can feel how his heart tries to break through his ribs, sweat pools all over and his T-shirt is clammy. Maybe he can save his flannel. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?” It's a whisper, but a confident whisper, Dean thinks.

“Dude, I've known for years. You love Cas. Congrats, man.” Sam takes Dean's hand and squeezes it lightly. “Now, stop being a dumbass and go confess your love to Cas so the curse goes away. I haven't told Cas about my findings – I had enough trouble hiding away that paragraph from him.”

A surge of anger flows through Dean. “You try to fondle up Cas and then you lie and cheat behind his back? He doesn't know?”

“It has to be reciprocated and Cas will definitely not make a move if you don't. If you confess, he'll do the same. The less he knows, the better. You're the most stubborn person I've ever met. Trust me, this will work.” Sam's voice turns softer and he smiles. “He loves you, Dean. Just confess, and he'll do it back and you can kiss and as a bonus, you'll get to live... And my misery will end. It's a win-win-win.”

“Are you saying that if Cas said to my face that he loved me, I wouldn't believe it? Obviously, you don't know me, Sammy. I can read people like an open book.” Dean pauses for a second, while a worrying thought hits him. “Why hasn't he said that he loves me then?”

A sickening feeling fills him up until the world is dull and gray. The answer is so obvious. If Cas loved him, of course he would have told Dean. Just the fact that those words have not once left Cas lips, not even a glimpse of confession, tells Dean all he needs to know.

“Hey, stop that!” Sam flicks his fingers in front of Dean's face. 

“What?”

“Stop doubting yourself. You are in each other's faces all the time, and I can barely shove a needle between you – you're that close to each other. And don't start me on the heart-eyes.”

“The what now?”

Sam looks towards the kitchen entrance. “Look, I've been gone too long already. I'll uncuff you now and you calm down from this weird love-funk you're in. Go to your room, watch a movie, wash Baby, I don't care what you do, just... pretend to be normal moody Dean and not jealous-for-no-reason-moody Dean. Then you get Cas and confess. Got it?”

Dean nods slowly. “Got it.” The click as Sam uncuffs him is music to his ears. When Dean gets up from the table, Sam is already gone. “You forgot your snacks!”, he shouts but Sam ignores him. 

He rubs at his forehead but it does nothing to alleviate the slow pounding of his headache. Great. His head feels like it's on fire, he's feeling cold from sweating excessively and then calming down – somewhat – and he's cursed. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters as he exits the kitchen, but not before taking a peek so a certain angel isn't nearby.


	5. Clamp down and nut up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is fully intent on executing his "I'll just die" plan, despite game night. He's followed all of Sam's "advice" to no avail - what does he know anyway? Begrudgingly, Dean decides to listen to his brother one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is here! =) One more chapter to go and this fic is finished. Thank you to everyone who reads and comments on this WIP. It means a lot. <3
> 
> And thank you always to @BabysNotaProp for being my beautiful beta.

Dean does what anyone would do when they hear that the guy they've been in love with for years might love them back – he fucking panics. It rhymes badly with his need to storm and stomp but he manages to calm down somewhat and sneak back to his room instead like the self-controlling badass hunter he is. 

Door locked, Dean sinks down onto the bed. He knows Sam said that he should busy himself with something but in the state he's in, he finds even that difficult. He can't wash Baby now; he'll probably leave stripes on her or even worse, scratch her up. 

Maybe a movie wasn't such a bad idea. 

Maybe he should just go and tell Cas. 

His heart leaps at the idea, and his pulse ratchets up. He isn't sure if it's from excitement or fear. Probably both. 

Dean turns to one side. What does Sam know anyway? He's read in some dusty old tome that Dean might be cursed and now he just fires off what he thinks is a solution. So, if he confesses to Cas and Cas doesn't love him, he's dead, if the sheer embarrassment of it all doesn't kill him sooner. If he ignores the curse and says jackshit to Cas, he's dead. If he confesses to Cas that he loves him, that he's loved him for what feels like an eternity and Cas loves him back, that's...

A burning sensation comes over his eyes. Dean rubs a hand over his face and swallows hard, but a lump forms in his throat, unyielding. Fucking feelings. If his eyes stop stinging then his throat goes at it instead. 

Dean gets back up from the bed and starts pacing. Basically two out of three options leaves him dead, so maybe it's futile to fight. The thought disturbs him. A Winchester never stops fighting. That only leaves the option of him telling Cas. 

He thinks back to the motel. Cas sleeping next to him, but this time it would be out of choice, not as some pretense for a case or out of necessity. He could really hold Cas' hand, feel the warmth of him as they hugged – a real one, not a quick embrace or a lingering one that only seemed to happen when one of them had been dead or possessed or some shit like that. Not that he isn't grateful for those moments of affection. 

He just wants more.

The pounding in his head comes back with a vengeance. A quick coffee and then – if the coast is clear – he'll go to the library and do some research of his own.

Everything feels easier now, when Dean has a sense of direction. Coffee and then the case. 

He walks back to the kitchen, and stops to a dead halt when he sees Cas, fidgeting with the coffee maker. He turns, as if he has some kind of internal meter that goes off when Dean is around.

“Dean. You didn't come join us?” Cas flicks the on-button. “You really think there's no case?”

Dean huffs. “Oh, I _am_ the case.”

Cas's eyes narrow briefly as if he's not sure he heard quite right. “What did you say?”

“I'm on the case. I... took a bath and realized that there might be something supernatural at play. So, did you find anything in the books?”

Dean grabs a mug and sits down, waiting for the coffee to be done. The soothing sound of the coffee as it slowly drips down in the pot calms him down. It's a sign of normalcy in what has become a day where Dean questions everything. 

Cas sits down next to him and places his arms on the table in front of him. 

Does he do it because he wants to be close to Dean? Or is it just because there's a fucking chair there? Who knows?

“Nothing that stands out. We could just be dealing with a cursed object. Maybe burning the arrows was enough. Or perhaps we should take a 'wait-and-see' approach. But there are still some books I'd like to go through. There might be something in there that we've missed.”

_You missed me being in love with you_ , Dean thinks bitterly but instantly shame curls inside him. “Sounds like a plan.”

Cas does a motion to get the coffee but Dean waves him away. “Got it, Cas. Sit down.” He grabs the pot and opens the cupboard. He closes it with a too-hard bang and sits down again. 

At least he doesn't tremble when he pours the coffee. “I say that we're finished with the case. How about just taking some R&R today, huh, Cas? We can play games – I still wanna beat you in Scrabble – or we can watch that zombie flick Netflix recommended?”

Cas narrows his eyes as if Dean talks gibberish.

“What's wrong, Cas?” Too beautiful for ya?”

Cas tilts his head slightly, a frown to his face. “No, I mean your physique is somewhat intimidating, especially if you consider that you're past the half-way point of human life expectancy. I'd say it's – you are – ... impressive.” Cas pauses slightly and really looks at Dean before he continues. “I'm just wondering about your increased sugar consumption. You do know that trading from one vice to another is hardly beneficial to your health?”

Dean blinks and looks down at the tiny spoon in his hand. He drops the sugar spoon and glances at the coffee. “I'm just trying something new.” He blows on the dark liquid and takes a sip. A grimace turns into a cough as overwhelming sweetness curls his tongue. “Still slightly hot, is all. Like you.” 

Panic grips him. What the fuck is he saying? Dean is all for distractions and says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Scrabble!” It comes out as a shout and Dean hides his spontaneous outburst by plastering a smile on his face. He totally meant to scream that out loud like a lunatic.

Cas narrows his eyes again; he does that a lot Dean realizes. “Scrabble?”

“Yeah, Cas, Scrabble. The game. Let's play. Or are you afraid to lose?”

Cas smiles. “No. If I remember correctly, me losing hasn't happened for the past six times.”

Dean scoffs. “Well, you just watch. Today's the day. I can feel it.”

Dean tries to hide his grin. He places the tiles, with the last tile on a triple score. “'Erotic.' Fourteen points, Cas! How about that?” Dean takes a swipe of his beer, feeling victorious. “You're quaking in your boots now.”

Cas arches an eyebrow at Dean – and oh man, if that doesn't stir things up in Dean. The kind of things that make his body boil hotter. “We've played three turns, it's too early to celebrate I think, Dean.”

Dean shrugs. “I take my small victories where I can get them, Cas.”

Cas nods and sits in silence for a few seconds before placing his letters. “I think this will do. 'Jerky'.” He places the tiles down. “And that is for a total of... nineteen points – ”

“Well, I'm not that far behind you – “

“And with the double word score that amounts to thirty-eight points.” Cas takes a single peanut and pops it in his mouth, a slight smirk on his face.

“Hey, what do you mean double word score?” He lifts one of the tiles and notices the cells are light red. “Oh, man, really? I think the Scrabble gods are against me.”

Cas' voice is tinted with amusement. “Which gods aren't?” 

“Well, you're right about that, Cas, which gods aren't?” Dean has already grabbed his tiles and thinks of ways to maximize his points. It's just that his letters are not the best this time around. Now and then, he glances at Cas. He's not sure if Cas has done something with his hair. It looks very good. 

Cas looks at Dean and that look alone makes Dean's stomach swoop. It's most definitely the light. It has to be the light because his eyes look ethereal. Not in the sparkly way when he's filled with grace but more _alive_ , the blue of them honed onto him. That is a ridiculous notion, because Cas has been alive for countless millennia and there is no reason that he should get that look while looking at Dean. 

Sometimes Dean can almost feel it though. It's a ripple that travels across his skin and settles somewhere deep within and if Dean didn't know Cas, he'd say that Cas was using his grace _somehow_ , to do _something_. He shifts his attention to his letters again. K, E, L, V, E, O.

“I think 'love' would work.” Sam's smug whisper in his ears startles Dean. His brother looms over him like a giant moose of a man. 

“I don't need your help,” Dean hisses back.

Sam shrugs and sits down next to Dean. “Hope you don't mind Cas, I think my brother needs some assistance.”

Cas nods. “I won't hold that against him.”

“Why thank you, Cas. _Sam_.” Dean ignores Sam and places down his next word. “Ha, 'evolve'. Might not have a fancy bonus square but it's a good one. Fourteen points to me.”

Sam grabs one of Dean's beers – as if interrupting his game play isn't enough – and nods. “Yeah, it's good. I like that word too. 'Evolve'. A friendship evolving into true love, now that's a beautiful thing. Don't you think, Cas?”

Cas looks at Sam, and he has that adorable squint between his eyes that Dean loves. Bastard. If he was only aware of how good-looking he is. 

“That is certainly a possibility. I've seen enough movies and read enough books to know that's a common theme.”

Dean keeps his mouth shut and for once he doesn't blurt out random shit.

“Mm,” Sam mumbles.

Dean kicks his shin beneath the table. 

Sam looks at Dean, bitchface number three on his face, but he smooths it out quickly, and continues as if nothing has happened.

“'Frappe'. And if I'm not mistaken, that's another double word score, so 36 points.” 

“I don't know why I agreed to play this game with you, Cas.”

“It was your idea, Dean,” Cas says dryly.

Dean looks over at Sam. “It seemed good at the time.”

Sam's face turns serious. “It's always a good idea. Only an idiot would choose not to when it means certain death. Especially when they know the truth.”

Cas reaches for the bowl with peanuts and takes two. “We're not playing that seriously, Sam. And while I do appreciate a game of Scrabble, it's hardly the best game out there. We can play other games, Dean. Or maybe you want to join us, Sam?”

Sam chuckles. “Nah, thanks, Cas.” He leans into Dean and whispers, “I'm already too involved for my liking.”

Dean turns a fraction, so he can talk into Sam's stupid shirt. “Then back the fuck away.” He grabs new tiles with much more fervor than anticipated and flashes a winning smile at Cas. “Eager to bet you is all.” He arranges the tiles and stares at them. He sees the word immediately. Well, he won't be touching that one. 

“What are you thinking, Dean?” Sam is in his face again and his brother is really trying his patience tonight. 

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking about all the ways I can sneak meat into your diet if you don't back off.”

Sam exhales. “You'd never do that. You were the one that made a vegan pie for Kaia and you're practically the king of bacon. Or the 'meatman' as you call it.” Sam shakes his head slightly at that. “Just put that 'A' there, and then you have two of your favorite words; 'erotica' and 'angel'.”

Dean gets up. “You know what, I'm hungry. Let's grab something for dinner.”

Cas clears away the Scrabble. “I think Jack's been to the store, so we should be fully stocked.”

While his stomach growls and demands instant gratification in the shape of sandwiches, milk and cereals or just a taco with leftover pasta, Dean agrees to a properly cooked meal. Not that there's nothing wrong with pasta tacos but meat and potatoes take longer to cook from scratch and Dean hopes it'll be enough to distract Sam. 

He ignores Sam's puppy eyes. He won't suck in Dean Winchester into doing something stupid with that look.

“Jack, easy on the salt or that steak will be as dry as Cas' sense of humor.”

Cas looks up from peeling the carrots. “I have perfected my sense of humor over many centuries, Dean.” 

Dean takes a grape – bless Jack for buying his favorite fruit – and crushes it between his teeth. “Oh, yeah, that explains why it's so dry, Cas.” He wipes his hands on the apron, and grabs the potatoes. He pats them dry and checks for any dirty but he's done a good job of cleaning them. He looks over at Jack again. “Alright, that's good, now you tie that bag up and let the meat stew in its own juices.”

Sam is at the counter, reading a book of all things. “Sammy, if that's a recipe book, and I know it ain't because we don't roll like that in the Winchester household – “

“I wish. The Winchester household usually rolls from 'Does it look edible' to 'I'll just nuke it more in the microwave so it dies.' And no, it's not a cook book. I'm just... looking into some things.”

Dean stares hard at Sam but he just ignores him. Fine. Then Dean will do the same. 

Dean can't believe Sam is still on about the curse and finding something. It's all a hunch based on the very loose assumption that his brother thinks Cas loves Dean. Well, Sam also loves halloumi, so what does he know about other kinds of love?

Lost in his musings, Dean notices too late that Cas grabs his potatoes. He takes the knife and starts slicing. “No, Cas, no. You're slicing way too deep.”

Cas narrows his eyes. Dean loves when Cas is in this sort of mood. Adorable angry angel that can smite him with a flick of his finger. Alright, he needs to calm down. Dean grabs a mug with water but his mouth is still parched like the freaking Sinai desert. 

“I was the commander of a garrison. I can expertly handle an angel blade – “

“Well, this ain't some vamp you're slicing into. You're not supposed to cut that deep. Let me – “

Dean grabs a cooking spoon and places the peeled potato on it. He walks up to Cas and stands behind him. 

Cas doesn't move away from Dean, which is a good sign, or maybe the workbench is in the way. Dean swallows but it still comes out as a croak. “May I – “

Cas nods. “Yes.”

Dean's whole world narrows down to Cas and how closely pressed their bodies are together. Softly, he inhales. The muted tones of the earth, the subtle notes of mint shampoo and the scent that is all Cas greets him.

He places his hand softly over Cas' hand and guides it. “And now you can just slice until you hit the spoon. This way you don't cut all the way through and the potatoes will turn crispy and... nice. “

“I didn't know that,” Cas murmurs.

“Now you do.” 

It's not until Sam clears his throat obnoxiously loud that Dean realizes that he's just been standing there, cornering Cas like a creep. He removes his hand from Cas, when all he really wants to do is intertwine their fingers together – like he did at the cottage but less creepy.

“Alright, I'll start with the meat then. Be generous with the butter and salt them before they go in the oven.”

Cas' voice is husky, even more so then usual Dean thinks. “Thank you, Dean.”

Jack grabs the tray with the steak. “Meat is ready to go, Dean.”

Dean takes a step back. “Uh, right, you already did that. Finish those potatoes, Cas. Wait some more with the steak, otherwise it'll be too dry.” He turns to Sam. “What should I make for you?”

Sam looks up with a frown. “Uh, whatever you have that is not meat. Halloumi is fine.”

“I really don't get the appeal for what is essentially squeaky rubber, but to each their own.”

The first five minutes of dinner everyone is silent, savoring the awesome cooking skills that Dean is gifted with. Sure, he's come a long way from TV-dinners and sandwiches but to his defense, he was an eight-year old kid who barely knew how to tie his own shoes back then.

“I was planning to head out to Eileen's tomorrow. Just wanted to give you a head's up but – .” 

“Good for you. When do you plan to elope?” Dean takes a mouthful of beer. Ah, nothing soothes him more after a long day.

Sam shakes his head slightly. “After lunchtime. We're heading to the beach but I was thinking that – ”

“You think too much. We'll be fine. _I'll_ be fine.” Dean stares at Sam until he nods slightly. He doesn't want his moose of a brother to stay and babysit him because of some weird-ass curse. Dean's managed far more serious things before. “Ah, the beach. A weekend get-away. Sounds nice. Is Eileen good? Still tolerating your mug?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “She's good, yes. Yeah, we were thinking of Charleston. I'll probably be away for – I was thinking a week or so but if there's a case you guys call me or of you need _advice_ – “

Dean raises a hand. “We'll be fine. If a case comes our way, I'm sure we can deal with it. You go chill at the beach with Eileen. You deserve it. Send her regards from the better-looking brother.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Cas speaks up. “Tell her to come over soon. It's been awhile. I like her, she keeps you on your toes. 

Dean scoffs. “She keeps all of us on our toes. Say hi from me.” 

He glances over at Cas and can't stop the image that pops up in his head. Him and Cas at a beach house somewhere. The waves roll in, and they walk hand in hand, toes in the sand. After, they watch a movie, sunbathe, take a swim in the ocean, hell, he'd even chase seashells if that made Cas happy. 

Cas with a slight tan; just the thought makes Dean warm inside. Cas is hot now but with a tan and his hair tousled by the salty waves he'd be irresistible. 

An ache seizes Dean's heart and he sighs. No idea to chase futile dreams. 

“Dean!”

Dean blinks at Jack's shout. “Huh, what's up kiddo?”

“I said I've been practicing. I'm pretty confident I can beat you around Nürburgring this time.”

“Not tonight, Jack. I was thinking about catching up on the show I'm watching right now... the British bake-off. ”

“Oh, ok. Sam?”

“I'll join you, Jack.”

Dean has decided. 

He'll do it. He's going to grab the bull by the horns, toss the dice, take charge, bite the bullet and nut up. He knows it's a bad idea. Who in their right mind would want their fucking nuts to go up? A masochist and Dean is one (not the nut-kicking one though) otherwise he would scrap the idea the second it appears. 

He taps his fingers and stares at the blank piece of paper on his desk. He's even locked the room which seems over the top. He's just writing a letter but just the knowledge that no one can walk in on him gives him some peace.

His body doesn't get the peace memo because he's already uncomfortably warm and his hand aches from gripping the pen too tight. Alright, what would Sam say? Dean pictures his brother in front of him; he's rolling his eyes and saying snarky shit like: “Let it come from your heart, Dean. Kumbaya.”

Fine, this is Dean Winchester speaking from his heart. He closes his eyes and exhales. _You can do it, just tell Cas what you feel._

Dean starts writing. 

Dean's hand is numb and he glances at the letter, the scribbles of his handwriting fill both the front and back of the paper. He shakes his hand and folds the paper up. Promptly, he gets up and heads out the door, the letter in his hand. 

This is Dean Winchester getting his nuts kicked. 

Right before Dean knocks on Cas' door, he decides to take a look at the letter.

_I had a thing for you for years, Cas. Not just a thing, maybe it was that in the beginning, but now I can finally admit that I love you. Not in the friendly way, you are my best friend, don't doubt that but this isn't the kind of love I'm talking about. I love you, stupid. I love how you always make me coffee, that you're always there for me, even when I don't deserve it._

It feels surreal to see those thoughts printed out. Dean turns the letter and almost chokes. 

_The thought of your hands on my skin makes me weak. Your mouth on me is what I dream of. Not the timid, soft kiss, no. I want to feel every touch of your lips like a confession on my skin and a brand on my soul._

What in the holy mother of fucks? Dean doesn't remember writing that at all.

The door opens and Cas raises his eyebrow when he sees Dean stand there, like a fucking fish with his mouth open.

“Dean. Hello.”

“I was just about to knock...” It comes out as a mere whisper. 

“Are you alright? You seem to be acting odd around doorways, especially mine.” Cas glances at the letter. “Is that for me?”

Hell no. Dean curls his fingers around the paper and scrunches it up. “Nope. I – uh, gotta go. Bye.”

Dean practically runs away from Cas' room, not even bothering to cover up for his suspicious behavior. Back in his room, he tosses the paper in the trash can and sets the disaster on fire. What was he thinking? He shakes his head in disgust. He wasn't thinking, that's the fucking problem. 

He has a need to just forget about everything, the curse and his very real and imminent death. He grabs a left-over bottle of water and douses the last embers. The evidence is extinguished and he's exhausted. 

Dean figures that he'll really go ahead and watch the Bake-off and that requires snacks, which is totally understandable. What person could watch a show about cakes, cookies and croquembouches and not want something sweet?

Just as he walks back – his hands full of chocolate chip cookies and a coke – he bumps into Sam. 

Sam whispers, that's the one thing Dean is grateful for. “Dean, have you told Cas yet?”

Dean's mouth thins. “I tried.” He walks around and grits his teeth when Sam's hand closes around his arm. “What?”

“Dean... We don't know how many days, even hours, you have left. You got to confess. Stop being so stubborn. He loves you. Every fool with eyes can see that.”

“I tried to confess, alright. It didn't work.”

Sam swallows, worry etching his face. “What do you mean? Did he not... Did he – “

“I wrote him a letter, alright. A letter. And it started out good, then there was a bunch of crap”, Dean whispers now, “explicit crap that I have no recollection of writing. Like at all! It was like I was the vessel for Madame Blavatsky's secret desires.”

“So...”

“So I burned the letter, of course.” Dean drops a cookie on the floor and glares at Sam. “Great, now you're ruining snack night too. Can't a man enjoy some cookies before his imminent death?”

Sam sighs and looks tired all of a sudden. “Look, Dean, you don't need to shout it out from a mountain top that you love Cas, just say it. You've been through so much, we all have. Simple, plain honesty works too. If writing letters is not your thing... and judging by your reaction, it's not, say you love him your way. The _Dean_ way.”

Dean smiles. “With bacon and pie?”

“No, in this case bacon and pie won't do.”

“Sammy, bacon and pie will always do, but I get it. Just be me and tell Cas, right?”

Sam looks at Dean, disbelieving. “Right. So, you're gonna do it? My love life doesn't have to suffer because you're avoiding romance?”

“Pinkie swear, I'll do it. And shut up. Before Eileen, your love life was zero. Be grateful.” Dean takes a bite of a cookie and starts walking to his room. He waves at Sam.

“So, you're gonna do it, right?” Sam's worried voice echoes through the Bunker corridors.

“Yeah, Sammy. I am.”

And what better way to do just that than shout his love out from a mountain top? Dean grins as he chews on his cookies. Go big or go home.


	6. Setting the record straight: Dean isn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is finally going to do it. He's going to confess his feelings for Cas. Will Cas harbor the same feelings for Dean or will he leave him hanging?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely readers!
> 
> This is the last one for Aim Straight. I really enjoyed writing this fic, so thank you Clarinda_Sydney for the great prompt!
> 
> Thank you to @BabysNotaProp for being awesome as always. Love ya 💗
> 
> I hope this chapter finds you well, that you'll like it and that you've enjoyed the story so far. Comments and thoughts (and concrit) are as always appreciated.

Dean glances at his bed and then shakes his head. Not happening. His sheets are soft and comfortable and like hell, he's ruining them with ink. If all goes well, there will be something else responsible for ruining the sheets.

He looks at himself in the mirror before leaving his room. It's a face that he is intimately familiar with – it would be weird if he wasn't, it's his face after all – and he can see the determination in his own eyes. It's the soft, good kind of determination though, not the I'll-kill-you-dead- one.

Dean swallows and really looks at himself. His dark brown hair looks decent but he still runs his fingers through it. Just a tad of product but not too much. He's not out to look like Fonzie or some freaking hipster. Just Dean Winchester. He sighs but the wrinkles between his eyebrows are still there; the ones that give him a slightly pissed off-look, even when he's more chill than Yoda. He thinks happy thoughts: driving Baby, gluing Sam's fingertips to that coffee mug, holding Cas' hand in that french cottage but his wrinkles remain.

He glances down at his flannel. It's worn and faded but comfortable as hell. He lifts his arm and takes a whiff. Alright, the flannel shirt is _too_ comfortable because it smells like it's been glued to his body for a week.

He walks over to the hamper and eases himself out of the shirt. For a second, Dean thinks that he'll just wear his black T-shirt but darkness has settled and it will be cold outside. He walks over to his wardrobe and takes a look at all the shirts hanging neatly in rows.

They're color-coordinated and sorted after how thick the squares are and how well-worn the shirts are. His extra nice ones are way in the back. Sam always offers Dean money to buy a new one when he wears one of them and claims that one sneeze is all it would take for the shirt to disintegrate from his body. Dean scoffs. Sam is just jealous of the quality of his shirts. Durability is a sign of quality.

Dean grabs a green shirt with black squares and puts it on. Perfect. Off he goes to find sheets.

Dean knows the way to Sam's room like the back of his hand but the walk there still takes longer than usual. He wants to avoid both Sam and Cas but luckily for him, he can hear the muted sounds of the TV. Some kind of antique show from what Dean can decipher. He stops in his tracks when he hears the word “cock-beading” and frowns. What the hell? If Sam is jerking off in the TV-room, he'll need to burn the whole room down.

Dean mutters under his breath. “What kind of weirdo watches a porno about cock-beading anyway? What the hell is that? Some poor man's version of bukkake? Oh, we can't do the showers, so here are some cock beads instead?”

He just shakes his head and hurries on to Sam's room. He feels a twinge of guilt as he enters Sam's room and snoops but it's not like he's _really_ snooping. Dean is just out to borrow a sheet. He walks over to the dresser and opens the drawers quickly. He shuts them as fast when he doesn't see the fabric he's looking for.

Dean hurries over to the wardrobe and spots a square pile on the floor. Odd but who is Dean to judge Sam on how he stores his bedsheets? He grabs a square and quickly exits Sam's room. On the way back, just as he rounds the corner he spots Cas walking the hallways like a forlorn ghost. Why is he up still? Granted, Cas needs no rest but usually, he has his still hours where he meditates, writes Enochian poetry, or practices being handsome.

As Dean pulls back, he exhales softly. It's ridiculous that he's hiding from Cas when he's gonna do the adult thing, man up and tell him – tell his best friend, his angel – that he's been in love with him for years. That he still loves him.

Dean looks around the corner again and shakes his head. Forlorn ghost his ass. He sees that Cas has stopped and by the looks of it he's just standing there, gazing at the wall. Even doing that, he looks like something from a fairytale; he's otherworldly and magical and just _Cas_. He radiates power just by how he stands and as Dean imagines Cas' blue eyes finding him, goosebumps erupt on his arms.

Cas moves an inch.

Dean notices how his hair shines and wonders in confusion if Cas has started to use hair gel. Not that it matters. Nothing matters except Cas just being Cas. Dean will take him however he can. Whether that be as an angel or human, just having Cas in his life is all he wants.

_Liar. If that is the case, why are you skulking around at nighttime stealing sheets? Sure, angel or human but you want him to be_ yours.

Dean pulls back again and starts ambling back to his room, holding Sam's sheets in a tight grip. He will do this his way. Shout it out from a mountain top.

The good thing with Sam's sheet – besides the nice quality of the cotton – is that it's big. Big enough for Dean to write down his message and since the letters need to be huge, his message can be precise. Not wordy and flowery – Dean's not good with that at all – but to the point. Like he is. Most of the time.

He puts down all his Sharpies and looks at his masterpiece.

_Dean ❤ Cas_

Perfect.

It's close to eleven so Dean decides to sleep a couple of hours and then do the deed. He eases out of his clothes and grabs his headphones and music player. Pulling the covers over himself, Dean pushes play. The calming sounds of Metallica reach him and he hums along until sleep pulls him under.

Dean wakes up with a groan at the sharp beep of his alarm. Why the fuck is the alarm on? Bleary-eyed, he shuts off the hell-machine and is about to turn over when he notices the bedsheet tossed on the floor.

Oh yeah, his declaration.

He pulls on his clothes swiftly and decides to wear a hoodie too. The air can be cold at night; he's not planning on camping but it will take a while to get there and attach his sheet.

Dean grabs the cords – he found them in his desk drawer – and uses scissors to tear two holes near the top corners of the sheet. Pulling the cords through, he ties them off good before he sneaks out.

The only light in the Bunker comes from the small bulbs in the corridors and the muted glow from the kitchen. Dean treads lightly – he's like the fucking Nightcrawler – tip-tap dancing his way until he's at the Bunker's exit. The sheet in his hands makes the next phase of his plan awkward though. Dean grins when the idea hits him. Why not take the superhero idea one step further?

Dean grabs the cords and ties the sheet around his shoulders and pulls the cord down under the back of his hoodie. Now he's not only skulking like a superhero, he _is_ a superhero. He closes the door as quietly as you can close a metal door.

The chilly night winds hit his face and that's not the only thing that hits it. A light, almost mist-like rain sprays his face. Dean contemplates going back to grab a jacket but decides against it. This will only take a few minutes and then his life will change. Hopefully for the better.

He pulls the sheet around himself. He can tie the sheet above the outside door of the Bunker – there's a tiny railing there – but for shouting it out from the highest mountain that looks more like a pebble. Cas deserves more than pebbles. Dean said go big or go home – luckily for him, home is really close by, so he could go home – but it's time.

And he's already decided that he'll move to fucking Alaska if Sam is wrong about Cas'... feelings. What does Sam know? He likes quinoa for crying out loud.

No, go big or go home. Dean's mouth goes dry as he realizes that he's really going to do it. He looks up at the taller building that dwarfs the entrance to the Bunker. There is his mountain.

When Dean reaches the side of the tall stone building, the misty rain has turned more persistent. The light sprays are now droplets that cling to his hoodie and makeshift-cape. He hasn't seen even a shadow of a ladder on the wider side but he hopes that luck will be with him.

He curses as he pulls his cape along. Branches with their greedy knobby hands are trying to pull him back and Dean tries not to make a tear in the sheet as he untangles himself. As he looks up at the night sky, it seems dimmer than before. A huge cloud covers the moon, obstructing all light.

“That's great.” Dean glares at the cloud hiding the moon. “If this was a movie you'd dissolve by now so the moon can show me the way or some crap like that.” All he gets is more water on his face.

Dean wipes at his face with his hoodie and feels with cold hands along the stone wall. He squints in the distance as his breathing speeds up. Is that what he thinks it is? Excitement has him running and Dean practically jumps along the leafy trail.

Just before Dean can say _hell yeah!_ he takes another step with heavy feet and slips forward. He lands with a thud, his face hugging the wall.

Dean grunts as he gets up slowly. The stone wall has left burning abrasions on his right cheek, but what's a little skin peeling when he can finally climb on top of the cursed building. There, just within reach, he sees the ladder. It's an old, rusty thing but it has steps so it'll do.

He stands on his toes but still, the first step is out of reach. Dean sighs. The things he'll do for love. He tugs at the cape but it's still there, tightly anchored.

Exhaling deeply, Dean bends his knees and jumps. His biceps flex as he slowly pulls himself up and soon he has enough purchase to use his feet too. Standing on the very first steps, he screams out into the night: “I'm the king of the world!”

He grins but it falters when he realizes that he's alone. That's just great, no one is here to share the best Dean moments with him.

As he glances up, he sees the vague outline of a ladder as it hugs the building. Here's to hoping it goes all the way. He climbs slowly and methodically. The wind picks up as he climbs and the rain turns heavier with every step. The sheet starts to feel heavy and drags him down but Dean keeps on climbing. The ink better hold.

When Dean reaches the top of the building, slight shivers rake his body despite him being sweaty due to the climb. He stands tall and slips the sheet off his shoulders. As he turns it around, he's happy to see that the message is intact.

He looks at it for a few seconds as slight hesitation worms its way to his heart. Maybe he should have made the heart slightly bigger. And he didn't even color the heart red; it's a simple black and white. What if Cas won't get it? Isn't red like the international color of love or something?

He shouldn't have drawn a heart either; hearts can be misinterpreted. Dean thinks on those friendship hearts that say _BFF_ where you give one half of the heart to your friend. He should have _spelled_ it out. _I love you, Cas_. Maybe a smiley next to it to keep things chill, just in case Cas rejects him.

Dean swallows hard. He's _not_ going to think about _that_ possibility. And if that's the case, he's dead anyway.

A sudden wave of warmth washes over him and with it, all doubt vanishes. Of course, this will work. He's Dean fucking Winchester, no one can resist him. And if he loves Cas, Cas loves him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean knows this suddenly increased boost of confidence is probably the curse talking but he doesn't care.

It feels nice to know that Cas will love him as surely as Dean loves him.

Dean walks to the edge of the building and looks down. From the outside, the top of the wall looks smooth but Dean notices that down at the bottom of the edge on the inside there are hooks poking up at a pretty even distance. Who knows why the Men of Letters needed those? Maybe they had giant tent parties, maybe they all did Bungy jumping when they were not busy prancing around in suits killing monsters – although Dean wouldn't mind wearing a suit – either way, Dean is using this to his advantage.

He attaches the end of the cord to the hook and pulls it tightly. Just to be sure, he grabs the cord and heaves his body weight in the opposite direction. The rope holds. Dean wipes his damp hands on his jeans and takes a step forward so he's standing on the ledge. The wind is still muted but the rain insists on pelting his clothes and skin. He pulls up his hoodie and takes the other side of the cord.

After walking a few steps, he stops. As he looks back, the sheet hanging over the wall is neither too tight nor too loose. Satisfied that the message is still readable, Dean bends down to attach the second cord to the hook. This is going to be perfect. It might not be a mountain but a brick building is the second-best thing.

Everything happens at once. Dean's foot lands not on sturdy brick or concrete or whatever the hell the building is made off, but on a leaf. A fucking leaf. He slides with his foot, like it's part of a sad game of curling, and loses his footing.

He expels air with a pained grunt as something sharp cuts him across the back and then the cold wind is in his face. The rain pelts his face roughly. Adrenaline surges through his body and Dean reacts.

He reaches out and _grabs something._ He screams as his shoulder is yanked hard but he doesn't let go. Instead, he wraps his fist even tighter around the sheet he managed to grab a hold off.

Dean pants and tries to process what the fuck happened.

He looks down and sees blackness. He knows the ground is there somewhere, and he can see vague outlines of what he thinks is tufts of long grass and trees. He also knows that there are sharp and jagged rocks hidden in between. Looking up, he's fallen probably six or seven feet down.

He could scream but he's not sure anyone would hear him. Sam's probably snoring away and Cas and Jack – awake as they might be – will hardly hear him outside of the Bunker in the pouring rain.

He looks up at the sheet and it's still hanging there. Dean sighs. He's getting too old for this shit. He takes a hold of the sheet with his other hand too and is just about to drag himself up when he _feels_ more than hears the sheet tearing. It's just a slight motion but Dean knows it's not caused by the wind.

He shakes his head. He knew he praised Sam's supposedly top-quality sheets too soon. If he comes out of this alive, he's buying Sam fucking Egyptian cotton sheet. The good, expensive kind.

His hand is starting to hurt and his shoulder aches. Dean repositions himself slightly but he's still hanging like giant angler bait. This is not gonna work. He can't hold on forever. He decides to try to hoist himself up again before he really tires but just raising his upper body makes the sheet sway and tear another notch.

Fuck.

Slowly, Dean lowers himself slightly so his body is in a more comfortable position. Maybe he can pray to Cas and hope that he hears him.

Dean sighs. Cas won't even notice his sheet message then; he'll probably be too busy saving him.

_Cas! You hear me? I'm just hanging around here._ Dean chuckles before turning serious. _I'm in … kind of a bind here and wonder if you can give me a hand. Quite literally. Outside the Bunker._

Done with the praying, Dean looks to the side and notices an indentation on the wall. That has to be for the windows. Windows! If his life didn't depend on him holding on, he'd high five himself.

The windows are slightly out of reach but Dean figures if he can just get a little sway, he can grab hold of the grilles; they look thick enough.

Here goes all or nothing.

Dean starts swaying his body from side to side, as gently as possible. He can feel the taut fabric and so far no vibration or shaking, nothing that speaks of the sheet giving way.

He uses his feet as weighted leverage and dares to give a little more force behind his sway.

He passes the window before swaying back again.

Dean welcomes the rain now. Sure, the sheet is somewhat slippery but he's hot as fuck and the cooling rain distracts his mind from the now constant burning ache in his shoulder and arm.

The problem is that he can reach the grille and hopefully hold on, but for him to _really_ reach it, he has to let go and jump.

As Dean comes back swaying with the window in sight, he decides to try another tactic. He turns his body slightly, praying the goddamn sheet will hold, and kicks with his heel against the window.

Nothing happens beside his heel aching slightly.

Maybe his only option is to let go and try to jump. Maybe he can punch his way through the window.

There are too many maybe's for Dean's liking. He's not even sure he can move his fucking hand. He's been holding on to that sheet for so long that it feels like his hand has melded with the fabric. He tries to move his fingers slightly but they won't budge.

Just great. He's doomed to hang here until either the sheet tears or his hand falls off.

Dean lets go with his left hand for a second and shakes it before holding on to the sheet again. He's not even gonna try to do that with his right hand.

He has no concept of time. The only thing he's aware of is his arm and shoulder and soon even that numbs to a throbbing pain. Dean is tired and he can feel the shivers that rake his body. The temperature has dropped fast now or maybe his adrenaline is waning. Might be both.

He should have written it out in letters instead.

“Dean!”

Dean blinks and realizes that his eyes had been closed. The rain has not abated and Dean's clothes are soaked.

“Dean!”

He's not sure how much time has passed if any since he decided to just hang there, but he swears that he hears a voice among the howling of the wind and the rain beating on leaves, rocks, and this cursed building.

“Dean!”

Dean finally looks up and sees Sammy on the rooftop.

“Sam!”

It's his brother alright and not a hallucination.

He sees Sam lean over and he probably says something but the wind takes most of the sense away, leaving only Sam gesticulating. He ends it with an encouraging scream. “Hold on!”

Oh, he's holding on alright. Not much else he can do.

Sam bends down and Dean can feel a tug on the sheet and then a jolt. He shouts at his brother. “No!”

Hopefully, he gets the message that it wasn't a good idea. Like Dean hasn't tried that already.

Suddenly the window to the side opens up and Cas is there.

“Dean, I got you!” Cas holds up something and Dean realizes that it's a grappling hook. He wasn't even aware they had grappling hooks in the Bunker. Men of Letters, those kinky old bastards.

Cas takes the rope and swings it around a few times – and fuck if that doesn't look hot – before he tosses it out towards Dean.

Dean doesn't have time to object and tell Cas to watch his eye or throat or his entire body before he feels rope as it swirls around his waist and the weight of the hook as it settles. Before he can even think about what is going to happen next, he feels a hard yank as he's pulled through the window.

It's not the most elegant rescue. Dean feels the edge of the building brush his side painfully as he's yanked inside and he lands hard on Cas, still gripping the goddamn sheet tightly in his hands.

“Dean, are you alright?”

Dean realizes that he's laying on top of Cas, bound together with rope. He's living through one of his sexy fantasies with Cas in real life; sadly it's drenched in a concoction of embarrassment and disappointment.

“Yeah, just tied up a bit at the moment.” He chuckles as Cas pushes him away. He lands on the floor with a thud. As he tries to get up, even that motion is too tiring and a wave of tiredness comes over him. His arm is on fire, he is cold and shivering and for the life of him, he can't let go of the stupid sheet. His fingers still grip it tightly and Dean is suddenly afraid of what will happen when he finally lets go.

“What were you doing up there, Dean?” Cas has his hand on his back and gently pushes him up. As he unwinds Dean from the grapple hook, he speaks again, lower this time. “I... heard your prayer. Took me a while to get here, and I woke Sam up too. Didn't know what to find, so I thought it was best. Jack is sleeping and I figured it wasn't life-threatening because you would've _said so_.”

“Yeah, to my defense it didn't start that way. Good call on Jack though. He's like a grumpy teenager, no need to disturb his sleep for this.”

Cas narrows his eyes.

Dean knows he's skirted the question and that Cas is displeased but right now, his overriding emotion is gratitude. Gratitude that his feet are on solid ground again. He flashes a smile at Cas. “It's all good, Cas.”

Cas pokes Dean in the forehead, way harder than he has to.

Dean suppresses the slight shiver that goes through him, but can't help the relieved sigh that escapes his lips when the awful, insistent ache in his shoulder leaves him. He flexes his fingers around the sheet. Those work too. Great. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas does a motion to grab the sheet from Dean's hands and Dean's hand tightens around the stupid fabric. Not like this.

Cas looks at Dean as he tilts his head slightly to the side. “You are keeping this?”

His answer comes out raspier than he expects. “Yeah.”

“Are you going to explain what you were doing hanging outside the building in the middle of the night?”

“Birdwatching?”

“Dean... I saved your life just now. Common courtesy would be that you speak honestly – “

Dean raises a hand to stop Cas from giving him a new one. This wasn't going according to plan, not at all, but when had things ever gone according to plan in his life?

“Look, Cas... You know about that case back in Pickens? With the arrows and – “

“Yes, of course. We stayed in that cottage.”

Dean nods softly. “Yeah. Well... you know how I thought the arrows were cursed.”

Cas nods. “I do, we read up on the lore and we couldn't find anything.”

Dean lets out an amused breath. “Yeah, only because Sam hid it from you.”

Cas takes a step towards Dean and his brows furrow in displeasure. “Why would Sam hide such a thing from me?”

“Because... I'm cursed.”

“Cursed?”

Dean starts playing with the edges of the sheet. “Yeah, me. Back at the sheriff's office when I touched the arrow, apparently that's when that happened. Look, I'll just give you the cliff notes.”

Dean takes a deep breath and purges it all out. “So this arrow was cursed as I said and apparently I touched it because of course I did, and it happens to be a love curse but not really a curse- _curse_ cause it magnifies the love you have for someone like a giant fucking... magnifying glass and that happened to be you. Me to you.” Dean stops for a second to see if Cas is computing but Cas just blinks so Dean takes it for what it is and speeds along. “Anyway, so if I, uh the person I... love doesn't love me back I'm kinda screwed and I'll die so there's that. There's some bunch of love tropes involved too, maybe you noticed that I've acted kind of strange although I think I hid it fairly well. The _only_ reason Sam figured it out was because _I_ involved _him_ , not on purpose,” – Dean shakes his head – “trust me on that one but since this won't lead anywhere I suggest we just head down to the Dean cave and take a few drinks and watch a movie. Maybe I'll sleep first. I'm fucking beat man.”

The silence hangs heavily around them as Dean finally turns quiet.

Dean finally looks up at Cas.

He's gone still.

Suddenly light floods through the old building, illuminating Cas in a natural halo. Thunder comes shortly after and then Dean hears the violent drumming of rain on the roof.

Dean is back at the barn all those years ago. Darkness that was pierced by fierce lighting all around as those barn doors swung open and Cas walked through strutting his stuff like a peacock on fire.

Cas moves his lips then, and the question comes to Dean in a haze.

Time stands still. Everything stills, so much so that Dean has to concentrate to decode the sounds that come to him and try to form them into something coherent.

“Dean... what are you saying?”

Dean looks down at the ground again. The sheer uncertainty in Cas' voice is killing him but Dean is still not sure. Is he uncertain because he's getting ready to knock Dean down a peg, gently but still? Or is he nervous because – Dean's pulse beats louder than the thunder outside – because...“Uh, what the sheet says.”

Cas chuckles then, a low, careful sound as he gently places a hand on Dean's arm.

Dean dares to look up briefly at Cas' face. He inhales quickly. He's straight-up beautiful and this is just Cas being Cas, no curse or changed perception or whatever the hell the stupid arrow did to him.

“I can't see what the sheet says. You're still holding on to it.”

Dean exhales a low breath. He's always been holding on.

Holding on to a semblance of family happiness even before his mom died.

Holding on to some sense of care of Sammy when his dad just dumped them in a shitty motel for days while he was off hunting vamps and ghouls.

Holding on against hope that threatened to wash over him, hope for a better life without having to sacrifice himself or everything he cares about over and over again.

Holding on against the constant longing to just reach out to Cas and hold him, hug him, and just tell him that he loves the idiot.

Dean drops the sheet to the ground.

Thunder crashes outside and the wind carries some of the rain inside. It sprays the back of Dean, but it's just another wave of water against already soaked through clothes.

No more holding on.

“Cas...” His lips are dry and his heart thunders like a fucking stampede of wild horses. Go big or go home. “Cas... I need to tell you something.” He stops for a second, a final pang of fear begging him to hold on a while longer, to just wait some more. He looks down at the ground.

He's been waiting for over a decade. Enough already.

“Cas, I, I need you to know that...” Just fucking say it. Dean grinds his teeth as he clenches his hands into fists. “I love you.”

Silence engulfs him.

“I love you...” He says it quieter this time. He waits for what feels like an eternity but still, that awful silence hangs there. Dean doesn't think that he _can_ say anything else.

“Dean...” His name is a prayer on Cas' lips. Dean finally dares to look up at him.

Cas' blue eyes glisten with unshed tears but his face glows. There is no better way to describe it. Cas practically shines and the change is so drastic that Dean is taken aback for a second. He's always thought that Cas is hot and sexy, beautiful even but at moment Dean realizes what it means when people say someone is radiant.

“I- uh... that's what it said on the sheet...” Dean picks up the sheet and unravels it. “See?”

_Dean ❤ Cas_

Cas looks at the sheet just for a moment before he grabs a hold of Dean.

Cas' mouth on his – chapped lips and all – feels like an out-of-body experience. It's a soft and hesitant kiss, but Dean takes it all in anyway.

He wraps his arm around Cas' waist and pulls him closer, claiming him. His other hand finds Cas' hair and his fingers rake through it. He wants to touch Cas all over.

It's as if that action of Dean pulling Cas in changes something.

Cas breaks the kiss for just a fraction. “You really love me? You want this?” It's a question but Dean sees the happiness in Cas' eyes; he hears the elation in his voice.

Dean's heart pounds a resounding yes. If he didn't know better, he'd think he was on the brink of a heart-attack yet he feels light. He's finally let go and now it's almost like he's flying.

He lets out a strangled laugh but his hands never stop touching Cas.“I've wanted this for years. I've loved you for _years_ , Cas.” He caresses Cas' cheek softly – it's like a scene from a romance novel – but if Dean could stop time, he'd do it right then and there.

Cas flashes another brilliant smile at Dean's spoken confession and then shoves him against the wall.

This kiss is anything but soft. It's hot, warm, and possessive and Dean can't help the moan that comes out.

Cas eases back. “Is this too much?” His brow creases in worry.

Dean shakes his head but can't help the smile that comes over him. He's hot, practically sweating, and wants to take Cas then and there. Cas fucking loves him. He smiles again. Fuck, his cheeks are gonna hurt like hell tomorrow. ”Nope, not at all. Just carry on.”

Cas smiles again and Christ, he's gorgeous. Dean can't remember the last time Cas smiled like this.

His hands are on Dean again, strong hands that grab him by the waist and then Cas' lips meld with his own again.

Dean lets out another moan as he pushes his hips against Cas. He tastes like the storm outside – of rain, thunder, and lightning, of the ocean and deep secrets and the tang of metal, and just Cas, Cas, Cas.

He tastes so fucking good.

Dean's lips are raw, his body on fire but he doesn't care. If loving Cas means only to know his lips, he'll take an eternity doing it.

“Dean, are you alright?!”

Sam's concerned voice douses the hottest flames of Dean's desire and he reluctantly lets go of Cas' mouth.

Cas makes a motion to move away but Dean grabs his wrist and grins. “You're staying right here.”

Cas smiles again and Dean will never stop loving that smile. His voice is hoarse, deeper than usual from all the kissing. “I'm staying right here.”

Dean finds Cas' hand and intertwines his fingers with his. This.  _This_ is all he ever wanted.  _This_ is something he'll keep holding on to. That and Cas' love. He chuckles to himself. Just great. They've kissed for two minutes and he's already moved in permanently to Sappyville. 

Sam runs towards them and stops suddenly. His face bursts into a huge smile and Dean notices that Sam's eyes flit from their hands to their face. “Hi, Cas...  _Dean_ . I can tell that you're alright?”

Cas clears his throat. “Yes, very alright.”

“Top of the mountain. Told you so, Sammy.” Sam has the nerve to roll his eyes but even that doesn't dull Dean's shine.

“Yeah... it wasn't the picture I had in mind but I'm glad it worked out for you.” Sam takes the last few steps towards them like the lumbering moose he is and embraces them both in a hug. “I'm happy for you, guys.”

After a few more paths on the back, Dean manages to escape his brother's death grip. “Alright, Sammy. We get it, you're happy.”

Sam grins. “Yeah. And the long-suffering stares and glances are finally a thing of the past.”

They start walking towards the exit and Cas grabs Dean's hand again. “Don't get to freaking happy, Sammy. Now you'll have to deal with the long-suffering make-out sessions and cute nicknames instead.”

Sam just shakes his head. “As long as nothing happens in front of my salad,” he mutters.

Dean bursts out laughing. “I heard that.” He turns to Cas as they descend what seems like a thousand stairs. “So this is it. You think the curse is lifted?”

“Well, it would seem so.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, I sure fucking hope so. If I have a desire to belt out in sing-song just tie me to a freaking chair, will you?”

“I don't need the excuse of a curse to tie you to a chair if that's what you want?”

Dean trips on a step and only finds his bearings thanks to Cas' hand on his arm, steadying him. He looks like innocence himself but Dean isn't fooled. “What...?”

“I've lived many millennia. I've seen it all, Dean. If you have certain desires or wishes, I'd be more than happy to fulfill them.” Cas stops in the middle of the stairs. “Maybe we should take things slowly. We do have history, a remarkable history, but one filled with pain and horrors too.” He turns his solemn gaze at Dean.

Dean's heart lurches in his chest and he looks down and hides a smile, despite Cas' serious tone. Fuck. Is it always going to be like this? Cas doing whatever and Dean grinning like a fool? He looks up just as Cas continues.

“Maybe you feel that there are things we need to air in the open before we take this... _union_ further?“ A small smile plays on Cas' lips.

Dean blinks. Is he hearing things right? Is Cas really asking him if he wants to wait? He clears his throat. “ I hope you don't think I'm too forward but... I've waited over a decade, Cas. I'm done waiting.”

Cas' smiles that gummy smile Dean loves so much as he squeezes Dean's. “Me too, Dean, me too. “

Dean's smile disappears when he hears Sam's voice from below. “God help me for hearing all that but I'm done waiting too, guys. Hurry up already.”

As they enter the Bunker, Dean lets go of Cas' hand.

He notices that Cas turns around immediately and he curses himself for being so thoughtless. He gives Cas a quick reassuring smile and motions to Sam.

Cas nods in sudden understanding and continues walking. Dean breathes somewhat easier, now certain that Cas got the memo.

Dean places a hand on Sam's shoulder. “Sam?”

Sam turns around and furrows his brown. “Dean? Is something wrong?”

Nothing was wrong. Finally, everything was right in the world. Dean exhales deeply and wraps his arms around his brother. He leans into his ear and whispers, “Thank you.”

He feels Sam's arms around him tighten. “It was nothing, Dean. Did it for my own sanity's sake.”

Dean chuckles as he let's go of his brother. “Oh, for your sanity's sake. Not to keep your brother alive?”

Sam shrugs. “That was just a bonus.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.” Dean is about to walk past Sam when he remembers. “Speaking of sanity's sake...” He can't believe he's going to say this but he has to. He rubs his face and sighs deeply. Sam owes him all the pies in the world. “When you... uh, do your thing, Sam, can you please, _please_ , do it in the privacy of your room?”

Sam looks at Dean like he's lost his goddamn mind. “What?”

“Ah, man, are you really going to make me ask you straight up?”

Sam shakes his head in confusion and even has the audacity to scoff. “Dean, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Dean shuffles his feet. “For fucks sake... “ He leans in close to Sam and whispers. “When you shine your rod, can you do that in your own room? Like every other normal person. I'm not interested in knowing about your private... _interests_ but out in the family spaces of the Bunker is really not the place.”

Sam crosses his arms and gets defensive. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you the other night, alright Sam. So drop the act. I don't get what the big deal is. Just jerk off in your own room.”

Sam lets out a shocked little laughter that's more on the side of a scoff.

Dean doesn't see the funny in the situation _at all_. He has more important places to be like Cas' bed. Or _his_ bed. He's not picky. “I fucking heard you. The sound was muted sure, but cock-beads? I don't kink shame, just do it in private please.”

Sam bursts out laughing and he continues to laugh when he sees the annoyed expression on Dean's face. “Dean – ” Sam doesn't come any further before he starts laughing again.

Dean crosses his arms. “What?”

Sam takes a few breaths and wipes at his eyes. “Dean, that wasn't... – I wasn't _masturbating._ God, what's wrong with you?”

Dean doesn't like the feeling of uncertainty, especially not when _he's_ the one feeling uncertain. “What's wrong with _you?_ ” Sure, it wasn't the best comeback but it was something.

“I was watching an antique show.”

Dean makes a face and shakes his head. “An antique show?” That has to be the most ridiculous attempt to save face ever.

“Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Sam pokes Dean in the chest. “All judgmental.”

Of course, he was gonna judge his brother for jerking off in the TV-room.

“I bet I even know what word you heard. Cock-beading, right?”

Dean makes himself ready to leave in two seconds flat. This is not the way this conversation had been planned out in his head. “Yeah...”

“Cock-beading is type of molding. It dates from the eighteenth century. Early eighteenth to be precise. When you do wood-working cock-beading is when you – “

Dean raises a hand before Sam goes all out nerd on wood-working and moldings. “Glad we sorted that out. Now I have another cock to attend too.”

Sam makes bitchface number twenty-one. “Too much info, Dean.”

“Now you know how I felt with all your cock-beading.”

Sam lifts his arms in exasperation. “I'm going to bed.”

“Me too.”

Sam groans. “I'm really happy for you, man... but good night!”

Cas waits for him although he's moved further down the corridor, probably to give him and Sam some space. “Anything important?”

“Nah, just needed to exchange a few words with him. Set a few things straight.” Dean grins. “Not me though.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Is this what I have to look forward to now? You making very bad puns?”

He's hot when he rolls his eyes and he doesn't even know it. “Cas...”

“Yes, Dean?”

Just the realization that Dean can say it out loud and not hide things anymore makes him giddy. He doesn't have to hide and it's freeing as fuck. “You're hot when you roll your eyes.”

Cas shakes his head but smiles. “You don't know this but many of my vessels were by human standards considered by the other angels to be, and I quote Balthazar on this, 'the hottest in the garrison'.”

“I don't know about the others but.. you do look good, Cas, objectively speaking.”

Cas starts walking and Dean follows. He's not sure if they're going to Dean's or Cas' room but when they turn left; he knows that they're heading to his room.

Dean does a quick mental survey of his room; bedding was done yesterday, there were no left-over pizza slices. He is good to go.

Cas moves with confidence. There's no indication that they're gonna fuck and be naked together within five minutes. He stops at Dean's door and grabs the doorknob. “Uh, we can wait if you want, Dean. Know that... Just the fact that you love me too is almost too much to comprehend and – “

Dean moves past Cas and opens the door. He kisses him hard on the lips, and how quickly that is becoming something natural, something that Dean doesn't wanna be without. “Shh, Cas.” He shoves the angel inside and closes the door.

The door is barely shut before Cas is on him. His lips brand Dean's skin like fire as Cas moves from his jaw and further down his throat. “You'll give me an indication if you want to stop or if we're going too fast?”

Dean moans as Cas sucks at a sensitive spot on his neck. “Mmhm, I think we're way beyond the point of going _too_ fast, Cas.” His cock is rock-hard and they aren't even naked yet. He grabs Cas' trench coat and pulls it off of him. “I always wanted to see you without the coat,” he mumbles into Cas' neck.

Cas drops the trench coat on the floor. “There.”

Dean chuckles and brings Cas back in with a hard yank at his belt. “If you think that's the definition of naked, I've got news for you, Cas.”

Cas smiles softly before his expression changes and the hard glint in his eyes _demands_ attention.

An arrow of excitement pierces Dean and the roaring pulse between his ears gets louder.

“Oh, I know the definition. I'm an angel, remember.” Cas leans into Dean as he grabs his flannel. “I don't get words wrong.”

Buttons fly as Cas rips Dean's shirt apart.

Holy hell.

Dean sees the flash of uncertainty on Cas' face. He leans in and claims Cas' mouth in a harsh kiss. “Don't worry about hurting me, Cas, 'ts okay.”

“You always were strong,” Cas mumbles as he finally lays his hands on Dean's chest. His touch is slow and deliberate as he explores Dean's soft skin. Casually, he brushes a thumb over a nipple and Dean bites his lips.

“Fuck, Cas.” His voice is harsh and coated with pure desire. Dean is practically crawling out of his skin. He can't take it anymore. He tugs at Cas' tie. “Off.”

“As you wish.”

“Oh, I wish.”

Dean eases out of his flannel and swiftly removes his T-shirt. Then he's on Cas again. He longs to taste him but this time Cas seems to get the message. Gone is the careful hesitation.

Cas leans into Dean's kisses as he unbuttons his shirt hurriedly and tosses it on the floor. He presses his groin against his.

Dean can feel Cas' arousal and his cock twitches again. “Fuck, you're killing me, Cas.”

Cas smiles against him and deepens the kiss.

Dean kisses Cas like the world is dying, and the only solace – the only promise of peace – he can find is in those usually dry lips, now wet with worship. He strokes Cas' arms and marvels at the strength that plays underneath his hands. It's a fucking sin to hide all that beauty under the trench coat.

He grabs Cas' cock through his pants and strokes. He's rewarded when Cas closes his eyes briefly. The lashes cast spiky shadows under his eyes and his desire – his desire for _Dean_ – colors his cheeks a soft pink. “You like that?” Dean runs his fingers up and down Cas' hard length and each tiny moan and soft sigh from Cas goes straight to Dean's cock.

“Yes.” Cas' eyes flash open, and blue Grace pulses within.

Dean moans. “Fuck, that's hot, Cas.”

Cas grins and places a finger on Dean's forehead.

He's in the middle of processing what Cas has done when Cas turns Dean around and pushes him down on the bed.

“You... you angel-mojoed my clothes away?”

Cas quickly removes his belt and pants. He toes off his shoes as he casually says, “They're in the kitchen. It was a spur of the moment thing,” he adds when he sees Dean's eyebrow arch in question. He removes his underwear, almost matter-of-factly, which is frankly hot as hell.

Dean pulls Cas towards himself and it's like seeing the sun for the first time. Skin kissed by the brightest star, hair that's too soft, and a body that is just perfect, perfect because it's _Cas'_ body.

Cas grazes his teeth alongside Dean's neck but Dean is hyper-aware of Cas' fingers as they trail alongside his thighs, teasing closer and closer. “May I...”

Dean nods as Cas kisses him again before he clears his throat. “Yeah, Cas, yeah... you don't have to ask.”

Dean's heart beats like a drum as Cas' fingers wrap around his aching cock. “Fuck, oh my God, that's –“ He swallows the rest as Cas' thumb twirls around the head. His body arches involuntarily and he grabs the sheets for purchase. He's a taut string-instrument and Cas plays him expertly.

“You're so beautiful, Dean.” Cas still strokes him with a slow, powerful motion. Heat rises inside Dean and he moves away from Cas' ministrations; it's almost too much. But the distance between them is a void that needs to be filled. Dean thinks he'll never be able to stop touching Cas.

He leans into him and kisses Cas' collarbone. As he leaves heated kisses on his neck, the angel moans softly and that stirs Dean's blood even hotter. “Cas... I need you to...” Dean pauses. Suddenly he feels like an embarrassed teenager all over again.

Cas spears his fingers through Dean's hair and yanks his head back. He grazes his teeth on Dean's neck as he whispers darkly. “Just say it, Dean.”

There's a spark of mirth in Cas' eyes and he strokes Dean's cock for emphasis.

“Fucking hell, I don't know how long I'ma last... uh...” It's hard to focus when Dean wants to lean into the pain of Cas' fingers pulling at his hair and just drift away.

Cas lets go of Dean's throbbing cock and wraps his other hand oh, so softly around Dean's throat. “I know you want to say it.” His squeeze is a promise of things to come.

Dean swallows around Cas' hand. Fuck, he didn't expect Cas to be this... assertive. It's hot as hell. He licks his lips and says the words out loud. “Please, fuck me Cas.” He can't help the grin. This feels so surreal. “Lube's in the drawer.”

Cas lowers his hand and grabs Dean by the shoulders to turn him. Dean complies – maybe he's just a tad slow on purpose, so Cas has to push him down into the mattress. Cas' hand between his shoulder blades stays there, a heavy weight that feels comforting and hot. Dean tries to wiggle away but Cas' presses down harder. “Be a good boy and be still.”

Dean's cock leaks precome at those words.

Cas shifts on the bed and Dean hears the drawer open and close.

“You're beautiful like this, Dean.” Cas trails his hands down Dean's body and strokes his ass slowly.

Dean arches his back, begging Cas without words to just do it already. He flinches when he feels a cold liquid between his cheeks. “Mm...” Dean muffles his moans into the pillow.

Cas' thumb slides up and down, before it settles, slowly teasing his hole. “Don't hide those pretty sounds from me.”

“I won't – fuck!”

Cas slides his thumb inside.

Dean vibrates. His leg is actually shaking but he doesn't care. He moves back, wanting more. Dimly, he notices that the bed creaks but that's just background noise. Cas and the sounds they make together are the center of Dean's universe.

“This is perfect, you're perfect, Dean.”

Dean feels Cas' caress his back softly. It's overwhelming. The touch of Cas' hand, the feeling of his thumb inside – the scent of Cas, sweat, and sex – mingles until it's a heady mix that demands more. Dean grabs his cock and gives it a few strokes.

He looks over his shoulder at Cas. He is breathtaking. His hair is disheveled, his eyes luminous and the desire and love on his face when he looks at Dean is almost too much. He will never doubt Cas' love for him.

Cas removes his finger and Dean let's out a frustrated groan. “Cas...”

He has the audacity to chuckle while Dean is practically disintegrating into molecules. “Be patient.”

Dean bites his tongue as Cas slowly drags his cock between his cheeks. Fucking tease. But soon all his attention is focused on Cas' cock and how he slowly pushes inside. He caresses Dean's back but Dean's whole world is centered on how good Cas' cock feels.

A faint pain burns as Cas enters him but together with the fullness of having Cas inside him Dean is delirious. He writhes underneath Cas but Cas leans over him and stills, allowing Dean to adjust.

Just when Dean is about to beg Cas to move – just move an inch – Cas grabs his hips. His fingers dig in, on the good side of pain and he starts thrusting.

“Dean,” Cas pants in wonder as his hips piston in and out of him.

Dean grabs the sheets and focuses on the sheer amount of pleasure his body is experiencing. His cock has never been harder and his heart beats wildly in rhythm with Cas' pounding. The sound of skin slapping, of Cas groaning in pleasure, of his own cries, is better than anything he could've conjured up in his hottest dream.

With every hard thrust, Cas cock goes deeper, hitting that spot that feels so damn good.

“Fuck, Cas. I'ma come soon.”

Cas slows his thrusts as his hands wander up Dean's sides and caress him. Then heavy hands land on Dean's shoulders and Cas pulls him back and up slightly.

Dean uses one arm for balance but the other one finds Cas.

“Too soon?” Cas' voice sings with amusement and whereas Dean is panting, Cas breathes evenly.

Show-off but a tiny part – alright a big part – of Dean gets turned on by that fact. “I think I'll pass out soon.”

Cas chuckles and kisses Dean on the back of the neck. “You'll miss the best part.” He increases his thrusts and wraps his arm around Dean's waist.

Dean is in heaven. Cas is practically melded to his body and every movement fans that release that he knows is coming. Cas, gorgeous Cas is all around him, holding him up.

Cas' hand lands on his cock again and as he starts stroking, Cas' whisper in his ear is a divine command. “Come for me.”

Dean is lost. Darkness flickers before his eyes as he comes all over Cas' hand.

His cock keeps pulsating as Cas lets go and pushes Dean down on all fours again. With a few hard thrusts, Cas comes inside Dean and then he stills.

Cas slowly eases out of Dean and starts getting up – up and away from Dean and that won't do. Dean grabs Cas' arm and pulls him back down in the bed. “Where you think you're going, Cas?”

“I thought you'd like to clean up...”

Cas' sudden insecurity after fucking him senseless is oddly adorable. “Come here. We'll do that soon. It's custom to cuddle afterward.” Dean turns serious. “I mean... only if you want to. We don't have to if – “

Cas turns towards Dean. “I'd love to.” He wraps his arm around Dean and pulls him close. After a beat of silence, Cas says, “I love _you_ too.”

Dean smiles – and if he keeps this up as soon as Cas says something – he'll get cramps. “Love you too.” Always have, Cas.

Cas reaches to the side, grabs the cover, and pulls it over them.

The warmth of Cas' body, the relaxation that comes from release and the whole day with curses lifted finally catches up to Dean. His body feels heavy and tired, but Dean is _happy._ He trails nonsense patterns on the soft skin of Cas' arm and inhales the scent of him. It smells like home.

The last thing he remembers before sleep takes him is a soft, gentle kiss on his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Tumblr under the name Castielscarma or on Twitter with the same handle. I welcome prompts and ideas, whether they be cute and fluffy, AU or angsty and non-con. Or you can just say hi! =)
> 
> If you like this fic feel free to check out my other writing. 💗


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